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THE    LAND 


WITHOUT 


THE    SABBATH 


A  GRANDMOTHER'S  TALE. 


BY    THE   AUTHOR    OP 

'EDWARD  AND  MIRIAM,"  "  STORIES  ON  THR  LORD'S  PRAYER," 
&C.  &C. 


NU^$iy\rf    *§ 


2>e^  <£  J ' 


"  Our  holy  and  our  beautiful  house,  where  our  fathers  praised 
thee,  is  burnt  up  with  fire ;  and  all  our  pleasant  things  are  laid 
waste."— Isaiah,  lxiv.  11. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

HENRY    PERKINS, 

134  Chestnut  Street. 
1841. 


Entered  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1841,  by 

HENRY   PERKINS, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Eastern  District 

of  Pennsylvania. 


PRE  FAC  E. 

The  scenes  painted  in  this  little  volume  are 
sad,  and  it  has  been  no  pleasant  task  to  collect 
them ;  yet  it  has  been  done  under  the  firm  con- 
viction that  insidious  principles  are  best  counter- 
acted by  facts.  A  picture  of  the  practical  effects 
of  such,  vividly  impressed  upon  the  mind  of 
childhood,  it  is  believed,  will  often  prove  a  better 
safeguard  in  after  life  than  the  best  train  of  argu- 
ment. May  this  work  do  its  humble  share, 
amidst  the  thousand  influences  which  are  moving 
to  form  the  minds  of  those  who  will  take  our 
places  on  the  earth,  according  to  the  principles 
of  Divine  Truth. 


6* 


THE  LAND  WITHOUT  THE  SABBATH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

I  wish  my  little  Claude  and  Henri  could  see 
the  cottage  in  which  their  grandmother  passed 
her  childish  days. 

Nothing  in  our  village  resembles  it. 

Not  so  neat  as  this  pretty  frame-house  which 
their  father's  industry  has  reared,  with  its  green 
verandah  in  front,  Venetian  shutters  and  white 
paling.  Neither  was  it  like  the  log  cabin  which 
Claude  recollects,  dull  looking  without  but  clean 
and  comfortable  within,  and  which  I  thought 
even  pretty  when  I  used  to  stand  on  the  hill 
opposite  of  a  calm,  still  evening,  and  watch  its 
graceful  wreath  of  smoke  stealing  up  from 
among  the  lofty  sugar  maples.  Particularly  if 
2 


6  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

I  could  see  my  own  curly-headed  boy  at  the 
door  making  acorn  cups  or  playing  with  his 
tame  squirrel. 

No  wonder  that  I  thought  it  lovely,  for  to  me 
it  was  full  of  tranquillity  and  happiness ;  and 
when  my  little  boys  shall  have  read  their  grand- 
mother's tale  they  will  no  longer  be  surprised 
that  she  loved  the  lonely  forest  better  than  the 
dwellings  of  man. 

But  my  father's  cottage. — It  was  a  low,  one 
storied  building,  rudely  plaistered  without,  full 
of  strange  angles  and  gables,  whose  vine-covered 
windows  lighted  our  pleasant  sleeping  rooms  ; 
that  is  my  brother's  and  mine,  for  our  father's 
was  below.  A  beautiful  ring-dove  for  years 
made  its  nest  in  the  moss  grown  eaves,  and  a 
tame  magpie  in  a  tall  wicker  cage  chattered  in 
my  window.  A  rustic  bench  on  one  side  of  the 
door  was  the  resting  place  of  my  father  and  our 
dear  old  Cure,  Father  Paul,  where  they  used  to 
talk  away  the  long  summer  twilights.  A  grassy 
hillock  which  nourished  the  roots  of  an  old 
white  rose  tree  whose  spreading  branches  nearly 
covered  the  front  of  the  cottage,  hiding  the  wea- 
ther stained  broken  plaister,  and  filling  the  air 


THE    SABBATH. 


with  its  perfume  in  the  bloom  of  the  year,  was 
my  favourite  seat  when  I  could  be  drawn  from 
the  sports  of  the  village  children,  which  was 
not  often,  for  I  was  a  lively  little  girl.  Not  so 
my  brother  Henri,  who  was  two  years  older, 
and  from  early  childhood  had  shown  the  sweetest 
thoughtfulness.  Well  can  I  remember  how  he 
would  remain  motionless  for  hours,  with  his  head 
thrown  back  on  the  hillock,  his  grassy  pillow, 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ever  blue  sky  of  our 
sunny  clime,  listening  to  the  low  melancholy 
wail  of  the  ring  dove,  until  his  little  heart  would 
heave  with  sighs  which  I  was  too  thoughtless 
to  understand. 

But  my  father's  cottage. — I  shall  have  nearly 
finished  my  picture  of  the  outside  when  I 
describe  the  two  lofty  chesnut  trees  which 
intermingled  their  branches  over  our  lowly 
roof,  giving  the  early  fragrance  of  their  blos- 
soms in  the  spring,  our  pleasantest  autumn 
sports  when  they  opened  their  prickly  hulls, 
and  a  useful  store  for  winter  food.  The  ches- 
nut gathering  was  even  more  joyous  to  the  boys 
of  our  village  than  the  vintage,  though  none 
could  climb  so  high  or  so  nimbly  as  my  brother 


8  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

Claude.  He  was  older  than  Henri,  but  al- 
though they  loved  each  other  dearly,  they 
seldom  played  together.  Claude's  delight  was 
in  active  sports,  but  Henri  better  loved  to  linger 
by  the  little  stream  which,  winding  round  the 
village,  lost  itself  in  the  dark  thickets  of  the 
forest.  He  always  knew  where  the  earliest 
violets  and  auriculas  were  to  be  found,  and  his 
step  was  so  gentle  that  he  could  even  surprise 
the  young  partridges.  But  I  am  wandering 
again. 

Well,  behind  the  house,  sheltering  the  spar- 
row's pole,  was  the  elm  tree  which  this  near  our 
door  so  much  resembles,  that  your  father  spared 
it  for  the  love  I  bore  the  tree  under  which  so 
many  of  my  childish  hours  were  sported  away. 
I  remember  a  pet  squirrel  had  his  nest  for  many 
a  year  in  the  hollow  of  that  tree,  and  sore  com- 
plaints were  made  of  his  superior  skill  in  gather- 
ing nuts ;  but  there  was  great  sorrow  when  the 
poor  fellow  was  found  cold  and  stiff  in  his  nest 
after  a  severer  night  than  had  been  known  for 
many  years  in  that  part  of  France.  An  old 
ivy  climbed  over  the  back  of  the  house,  and  long 
before  the  arrival  of  that  sad  time  when  we  were 


THE    SABBATH.  9 

forced  away  from  our  pleasant  village,  had 
reached  the  very  top  of  the  chimney,  from 
whence  its  long  lofcse  branches  waved  in  the 
wind.  A  rude  shed  covered  the  kitchen  door, 
under  which  was  kept  my  brother's  fishing  rods, 
their  clumsy  wooden  shoes  worn  in  rainy 
weather,  and  the  large  wicker  baskets  used  in 
the  vintage. 

Our  house,  though  the  largest  in  the  village, 
was  very  humble,  with  low  ceilings,  little  square 
windows  half  covered  by  the  ivy  and  rose  bush, 
and  very  plainly  furnished ;  but  never  did  the 
sun  rise  on  a  happier  abode,  though  a  God  of 
mercy  has  blessed  many  a  home  in  this  sinful 
world  with  the  sweetness  of  family  love.  My 
mother  died  when  I  was  an  infant,  and  my  father 
then  removed  from  another  part  of  France  to 
live  in  this  quiet  village,  where  an  aunt  at  her 
death  had  left  him  our  sweet  cottage  and  a 
small  piece  of  ground,  enough  for  our  simple 
wants.  He  brought  with  him  my  nurse,  Ja- 
quiline,  who  became  his  faithful  housekeeper, 
and  afterwards  my  only  earthly  friend  during 
much  of  that  sad  period  you  have  coaxed  me  to 
tell  you  about  before  I  die. 
2* 


10  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

My  father  was  a  Protestant  and  the  only  one 
in  the  village.  He  was  the  son  of  a  Protestant 
minister,  and  descended  •from  those  persons 
called  Huegonots,  who  some  centuries  before 
were  so  cruelly  murdered  by  their  Catholic 
brethren  ;  but  although  I  often  shuddered  at  the 
tales  of  what  a  mistaken  religion  might  do,  I 
lived  to  see  that  Atheism — or  a  denial  of  the 
existence  of  a  God,  could  be  far  more  treach- 
erous and  cruel. 

Henri  always  loved  the  stories  of  his  martyrs 
and  ancestors,  and  only  when  they  were  related 
would  I  see  his  cheek  redden  and  his  eye 
sparkle  like  my  brother  Claude's.  But  not  from 
a  spirit  of  revenge ;  oh,  no,  he  was  too  gentle 
for  that ;  but  he  used  to  ask  me  if  I  did  not 
think  the  martyr's  crown  would  be  the  most 
glorious  of  all  that  the  Saviour  would  bestow 
upon  his  faithful  ones.  The  chapters  he  loved 
best  in  his  great  grandfather's  Bible  were  those 
that  told  of  our  blessed  Saviour's  crucifixion 
and  the  death  of  Stephen.  He  would  pore 
over  these,  or  the  histories  of  the  Huegonots 
and  Albigenses,  at  his  little  chamber  window,  un- 
til long  after  I  should  have  failed  to  trace  a  letter. 


THE    SABBATH.  11 

Now  Claude's  fiery  spirit  would  often  have 
led  him  to  revenge  these  sins  of  other  days 
upon  his  guiltless  little  playmates  in  the  village, 
but  our  father  always  made  us  understand  that 
these  crimes  belonged  to  the  ignorance  of  past 
ages  and  a  mistaken  view  of  the  character  of 
God,  in  which  the  people  were  only  the  tools 
of  ambitious  or  superstitious  rulers.  Indeed, 
we  would  have  been  most  wicked  not  to  have 
loved  our  simple-hearted  neighbours  who  shared 
so  kindly  all  our  joys  and  sorrows,  scarcely 
seeming  to  know  there  was  any  difference  be- 
tween Protestant  and  Catholic.  I  am  sure  they 
came  almost  as  readily  to  my  father  with  their 
little  disputes  and  perplexities,  and  listened  to 
him  as  respectfully  as  to  Father  Paul ;  and 
when  he  would,  as  I  have  often  seen  him,  open 
our  great  Bible  and  read  to  them  the  commands 
of  our  Redeemer  on  forgiveness  of  injuries,  or 
his  words  of  comfort  to  the  mourner,  they 
would  cross  themselves  fervently  and  leave  our 
humble  roof,  peace  and  resignation  pouring 
their  sweets  into  their  troubled  hearts.  Then 
would  my  father  exclaim,  "  behold,  my  chil- 
dren, the  proof,  that  though  there  be.many  names, 


12  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

there  is  one  Spirit  and  one  God,  the  Father  of 
all!" 

A  French  village  has  little  likeness  to  those 
of  either  England  or  America.  Its  cottages  look 
prettily  in  a  picture,  but  too  often  they  are 
defaced  by  age  or  slovenliness,  and  our  village, 
I  fear,  too  much  resembled  the  rest;  at  least,  I 
remember  Jaquiline's  complaints  of  the  thought- 
lessness of  our  neighbours  ;  for  she  was  so  neat 
that  her  well  scoured  chairs  and  bright  copper 
pans  ranged  against  the  chimney,  were  a  lesson 
on  cleanliness  to  the  whole  village.  The  good 
dames  wondered  a  little  at  their  beauty,  but 
never  dreamed  of  imitating  her,  contented  with 
the  lightest  labours  of  their  house  or  garden,  and 
dearly  loving  an  evening  dance  on  the  green. 
All  the  females  of  our  village,  and  I  with  the 
rest,  were  notable  lace  weavers.  Every  sunny 
afternoon  the  women  and  children  might  be 
seen  seated  at  their  doors,  each  with  a  lace 
cushion  on  their  knees,  twisting  their  bobbins 
with  busy  fingers  and  chatting  together  in  good 
natured  friendliness,  while  their  husbands  turned 
their  spades  indolently  in  their  little  wheat  fields 


THE    SABBATH.  13 

and  gardens,  trained  their  vines,  or  angled  in  the 
quiet  stream. 

My  brothers  and  myself  were  the  only  chil- 
dren in  the  village  who  knew  how  to  read  or 
write,  and  this  was  the  condition  of  the  peasan- 
try throughout  the  land,  making  it  more  easy 
as  I  have  heard  my  father  say,  for  bad  men  to 
deceive  and  persuade  them  to  wicked  deeds. 
No  one  laboured  to  grow  wealthy  or  read  to  be 
wise;  to  laugh,  dance  and  be  merry  to-day,  to 
sleep  and  rise  for  the  same  purpose  to-morrow, 
seemed  all  they  lived  for.  I  remember  well  my 
father's  long  conversation  with  the  Cure,  sitting 
under  the  shade  of  our  rose  tree ;  and  how  the 
old  man  would  shake  his  head  and  pointing 
where  their  light  steps  were  tripping  the  green 
to  the  sound  of  the  violin,  would  reply,  "  Nay, 
Nay,  let  them  be  ignorant  and  happy  ;  it  is  better 
than  being  wicked  and  wise." 

Father  Paul  was  the  idol  of  the  villagers,  and 
well  did  he  deserve  their  love.  He  counseled 
and  instructed  them  in  their  duties  as  far  as 
his  limited  knowledge  of  the  Bible  would  allow, 
reproved  the  erring,  comforted  the  mourner,  and 
rejoiced   with    the   happy.      "My   children!" 


14  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

was  his  usual  address ;  and  when  he  came 
among1  us  to  taste  our  brown  bread  and  new 
milk  at  the  may  pole,  the  vintage  feast  or  the 
nut  gathering,  happy  little  ones  were  we,  and 
thrice  happy  those  whose  heads  he  affectionately 
patted.  He  had  not  much  learning,  read  little 
perhaps  except  his  prayer-book  and  the  lives  of  a 
few  saints,  but  he  knew  deeply  the  sinfulness 
of  his  own  heart;  and  so  true  was  his  humility, 
so  gently  did  he  walk  among  his  flock,  their 
friend,  their  monitor,  their  guide,  that  even  the 
careless  respected  religion  for  the  sake  of  their 
gray-haired  pastor.  Such  was  the  Cure  of  St. 
Marie-la-bonne. 


THE    SABBATH.  15 


CHAPTER  II. 

Almost  every  village  in  France  boasts  of  its 
Chateau  or  Castle,  in  olden  time  the  residence 
of  the  family  who  owned  the  surrounding  land 
and  were  called  the  lords  of  the  peasantry.  In 
the  early  days  there  was  a  very  strong  love 
subsisting  between  these  landlords  and  tenants, 
differing  from  any  form  of  affection  which  my 
children  can  know.  The  Compte  or  Baron,  as 
he  was  called,  protected  his  peasantry,  settled 
their  disputes,  improved  their  farms,  worshipped 
at  the  same  altar  and  lived  among  them  as  a  kind 
master  in  the  midst  of  humble  friends.  In 
return  the  peasant  defended  him  in  war,  and 
higher  than  all  earthly  beings  he  loved  and 
revered  the  family  at  the  Chateau. 

But  a  change  gradually  passed  over  the  land, 
and  finally  it  became  the  custom  for  the  nobility 
to  reside  at  Paris,  visiting  their  estates  only 
occasionally ;  at  last  the  poor  peasant  learned 
to  dread  the  appearance  of  those  whom  his  an- 


16  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

cestors  so  highly  reverenced,  since  to  supply 
their  extravagancies  of  living  they  had  too  gene- 
rally become  the  oppressors  and  pillagers  of 
their  humble  tenants.  The  noble  forests  through 
which  in  former  days  the  Baron  at  the  head  of 
his  villagers  and  servants  pursued  the  wild  boar, 
were  now  prostrated  that  some  Parisian  vice  or 
folly  might  be  indulged  in.  The  rents  were 
increased  on  the  estate  while  the  cottages  and 
farms  fell  into  ruin  about  their  occupants  ;  and 
worst  of  all  to  their  simple  and  affectionate 
natures,  infants  were  born,  but  none  from  the 
desolate  Chateau  came  to  give  the  happy  parents 
joy;  old  people  sunk  into  their  graves,  and  no 
kindly  word  from  the  master  they  would  fain 
have  loved  cheered  their  dying  moments. 

These  were  the  sharp-toothed  instruments 
which  divided  forever  the  three  fold  cord  that 
once  bound  together  the  peasantry  and  the 
nobles  of  France. 

Again,  the  Baron  of  former  days  paid  the 
same  respect  to  the  religion  of  the  land  as  his 
humble  followers,  but  a  sad  change  had  taken 
place  here  also.  It  was  now  the  fashion  for  the 
nobility  and  gentry  to  speak  of  religion  as  some- 


THE    SABBATH.  17 

thing  only  necessary  to  keep  the  poor  in  order, 
and  in  consequence  of  this,  sin  poured  over  the 
land  like  a  flood,  when  the  bulwarks  which 
stay  its  progress,  have  been  removed.  The 
laws  of  the  Almighty  were  broken  without  the 
slightest  shame,  the  services  of  religion  were 
neglected,  and  even  its  ministers  forgot  the  God 
whom  they  had  sworn  to  serve. 

At  first  these  great  changes  were  only  to  be 
observed  in  the  cities  which  were  chiefly  oc- 
cupied by  the  wealthy  or  those  who  ministered 
to  their  enjoyment  and  copied  their  manners 
and  opinions  ;  but  in  the  visits  which  the  nobi- 
lity occasionally  made  to  their  estates  they  car- 
ried with  them  the  poison  of  their  sinful  ex- 
ample. 

Remember,  my  children,  you  can  never  be 
simply  harmless :  your  influence  upon  those 
around  you,  even  as  children,  must  be  positively 
good  or  positively  evil ;  our  Creator  has  so 
formed  us  that  there  is  no  middle  way. 

When  these  persons  gave  themselves  up  to  a 

life,  of  sinful  pleasure,  and  then,  to  get  rid  of  the 

accusings  of  conscience  decided  that  there  was 

no  God,  or  such  a  One  as  took  no  heed  of  hu- 

3 


18  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

man  actions,  they  probably  thought  that  if  they 
were  wrong  none  but  themselves  would  suffer ; 
but  the  heart  of  man  before  it  is  changed  by 
divine  grace,  let  him  be  lofty  or  lowly,  is  as 
alive  to  the  corruption  of  sinful  example  as  bin- 
der to  the  spark.  Reverencing  the  footsteps  of 
his  earthly  master,  the  poor  ignorant  peasant 
willingly  knelt  with  him  at  the  Altar  of  his  God, 
or  sought  religious  instruction  from  the  same 
sacred  guide  ;  but  still  more  quickly  his  corrupt 
nature  caught  at  the  examples  of  scoffing  an^J. 
sin ;  with  no  Bible  to  teach  him  better  in  his 
soberer  moments,  he  only  laughed  the  louder 
and  danced  the  more  carelessly. 

In  the  succeeding  pages  you  will  read  how 
these  poor  victims  became  the  avengers  in  those 
who  first  opened  the  flood  gates  of  evil  on  their 
country.  But  perhaps  my  little  boys  have  been 
wondering  whether  we  had  a  Chateau  and  a 
Baron.  The  Compte  d'Anjou  was  the  lord  of 
our  village,  and  being  a  man  as  bad  as  any  I  have 
described,  that  he  always  lived  at  Paris  was  per- 
haps the  reason  why  it  so  long  remained  inno- 
cent and  happy.  Next  to  the  Cure  my  father 
was  most  revered,  and  unitedly  their  holy  lives- 


THE    SABBATH.  19 

and  pious  admonitions  daily  strengthened  the 
villagers  in  their  duty. 

The  Chateau  was  a  large  white  stone  build- 
ing, not  very  pretty,  which  was  one  reason  it 
was  said  that  the  Compte  did  not  bring  his  gay 
friends  to  visit  it.  Another,  perhaps,  was  that 
in  it  resided  his  excellent  wife  and  sweet  daugh- 
ter, the  Mademoiselle  Julie,  whom  he  had  neg- 
lected for  many  years.  A  man  does  not  like  to 
see  those  whom  he  has  treated  ill.  This  poor 
lady  was  never  seen  to  smile  in  all  those  sad 
years,  and  even  the  caresses  of  her  affectionate 
daughter  could  not  give  her  peace.  My  father 
used  to  shake  his  head  and  wish  that  he  might 
be  allowed  to  bring  her  to  the  fountain  of  com- 
fort, laying  his  hand  on  the  Bible ;  but  when 
Father  Paul  would  talk  to  her  of  the  rest  of 
heaven  and  the  duty  of  submission  she  would 
only  smile  bitterly  and  turn  away.  He  was  not 
allowed  to  see  the  Comptesse  often,  though  he 
went  every  day  to  instruct  Mademoiselle  in 
her  religious  duties,  her  mother  teaching  her 
every  thing  else. 

Indeed,  it  was  not  much  the  young  ladies  of 
those  times  learned  beside  needlework,  in  the 


20  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

country  at  least.  Mademoiselle  could  play  on  the 
guitar  and  spinnet  very  sweetly,  and  embroider 
so  beautifully  you  might  almost  think  you  could 
gather  her  roses  and  violets  from  the  satin  ;  so 
the  housekeeper  told  Jacquiline,  but  as  I  found 
afterwards,  she  could  do  little  more  beside  read- 
ing and  writing. 

I  was  quite  a  large  girl  before  I  ever  saw  the 
Comptesse  or  Mademoiselle;  for  the  grounds 
around  the  Chateau  were  very  extensive,  al- 
most including  a  large  forest,  and  a  high  wall 
with  a  ditch  in  front  made  in  the  warlike  days 
of  France,  over  which  there  had  formerly  been 
a  drawbridge,  hid  its  walks  and  carriage  roads 
from  our  view  ;  and  the  ladies  never  left  the 
castle  grounds  even  to  come  to  mass,  the  Cure 
attending  for  that  purpose  at  the  Chateau.  We 
might  have  loved  this  lady  very  dearly  had  she 
come  among  us  with  her  sweet  young  daughter 
in  the  manner  of  her  ancestors,  but  she  took  no 
interest  in  the  village.  Thinking  only  of  her 
own  sorrows,  she  neither  relieved  the  poor,  in- 
structed the  ignorant,  nor  sympathised  with  the 
unhappy  ;  consequently  she  tasted  none  of  those 
joys  which  the  benevolent  know. 


THE    SABBATH.  21 

Well,  in  this  quiet  happiness  we  lived  many 
years ;  my  brothers  and  myself  getting  from 
my  father  what  education  he  could  bestow  while 
he  carefully  guarded  us  from  the  evil  which  was 
fast  spreading  over  the  land,  pouring  into  our 
young  minds  the  knowledge  and  precepts  of  the 
Bible. 

Each  day  was  begun  and  ended  with  reading 
in  that  sacred  book,  and  on  Sunday  it  was  our 
study.  We  never  attended  the  village  church 
nor  shared  in  the  diversions  with  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  customs  of  the  country,  they  closed 
that  holy  day  ;  but  gathering  us  around  him,  my 
father  and  eldest  brother.would  read  to  us  from 
the  Bible  and  other  books  of  devotion  and  in- 
struction. The  time  which  the  villagers  chose 
for  amusement,  when  the  weather  permitted, 
was  generally  spent  by  us  in  a  retired  valley, 
where  the  sounds  of  their  mirth  could  not  dis- 
turb our  quiet  thoughts  ;  and  there  from  the 
beautiful  works  of  creation  around,  from  the 
humble  lily  of  the  valley  as  from  the  loftiest  of 
the  forest  trees,  my  father  would  read  us  sweet 
lessons  of  the  goodness  and  wisdom  of  our 
heavenly  Parent. 

8* 


22  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

Our  village  was  so  humble,  and  though  not 
many  leagues  from  Paris,  so  secluded  from  the 
great  roads,  that  except  in  the  disposal  of  our 
lace  and  the  abundance  of  the  harvest  season, 
we  had  little  intercourse  with  the  great  town 
near  us.  This  was  quite  agreeable  to  my  father 
as  Claude  and  Henri  grew  up,  for  the  country 
was  fast  becoming  unsettled.  The  peasant  and 
mechanic  neglected  the  daily  toil  that  was  ne- 
cessary for  the  support  of  their  families  to  pro- 
pose plans  at  the  village  inns  for  the  improve- 
ment of  government.  Bold,  bad  men,  taking 
advantage  of  their  ignorance,  poured  vicious 
counsel  into  their  ears  against  their  king  and  his 
ministers  ;  the  priests,  forgetting  their  Redeem- 
er's words  of  peace,  assisted  them  ;  thus  the 
whole  land  was  fast  filling  with  infidelity  and 
rebellion. 

It  was  long  before  Father  Paul  would  notice 
these  gathering  symptoms  of  approaching  trou- 
ble. He  thought  so  benevolently  of  his  fellow- 
beings,  and  our  own  village  was  so  peaceful 
and  happy,  that  he  loved  to  believe  every  por- 
tion of  his  country  equally  blessed.  But  a 
short  visit  to  Paris  on  some  duty  for  the  Comp- 


THE    SABBATH.  23 

lesse  undeceived  him.  I  was  then  about  four- 
teen, and  in  that  year  began  my  experience  of 
sorrow.  The  Compte  d'Anjou  had  been  in  some 
trouble  from  the  enemies  his  vices  or  political 
opinions  had  made  him,  and  the  Cure  was  des- 
patched to  him  with  letters  from  his  neglected 
wife.  During  his  stay  he  witnessed  such  scenes, 
and  heard  such  wicked  and  rebellious  speeches, 
as  filled  his  excellent  heart  with  horror.  I  well 
remember  how  after  that  time  his  look  changed 
from  its  usual  gentle  placidity  to  troubled 
thoughtfulness.  My  father  and  he  were  often 
absorbed  in  long  conversations  to  which  none 
but  Claude  was  admitted,  then  a  high  spirited 
youth  of  nineteen,  but  these  only  seemed  to 
make  them  more  sad. 

Henri's  gentle  piety  and  love  of  study  having 
made  my  father  determine  about  this  time  to 
educate  him  for  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  his 
new  pursuits  occupied  all  his  thoughts,  so  that 
he  did  not  seem  to  perceive  the  mournful 
changes  about  him. 

The  general  attention  among  the  working 
classes  to  disputing  and  politics  having  lessened 
the  industry  of  the  people,  as  a  natural  conse- 


24  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

qnence  poverty  and  suffering  were  increased, 
which  it  was  the  will  of  Providence  should  be 
rendered  still  more  intense  by  an  event  which 
no  forethought  of  man  could  have  prevented. 
It  was  now  the  close  of  summer  and  an  abundant 
harvest  of  grain  had  ripened  around  us ;  but  a 
tremendous  hurricane,  such  as  the  country  had 
never  before  experienced,  passed  over  it, 
destroying  in  its  terrific  career,  fields  and  vine- 
yards ;  prostrating  to  the  earth  in  a  few  hours 
those  fruits  of  the  poor  man's  toil  to  which  he 
had  looked  as  the  certain  means  of  supporting 
his  family  through  the  approaching  winter. 
The  feelings  of  the  people  of  France  now  rose 
to  despair.  Their  cheerful  contentment  had 
long  since  disappeared,  and  they  now  permitted 
their  hearts  to  be  filled  with  gloomy  thoughts 
of  revenge  on  those  whom  they  called  their 
oppressors.  These,  as  I  have  told  you  before, 
were  the  nobles  of  the  country,  too  many  of 
whom  regarded  and  treated  the  humble  mechanic 
and  peasant  as  little  better  than  the  brutes  of 
the  field. 

Slowly,  but  at  length  our  little  village  began 
to  catch  the  general  feeling  of  discontent.     Our 


THE    SABBATH.  25 

crops  had  suffered  in  the  terrible  hurricane,  and 
the  employment  of  the  lace-weavers  was  almost 
gone,  whilst  not  expecting  poverty,  few  had 
any  other  dependance  than  the  yearly  supply 
which  their  lands  afforded  them.  That  was 
indeed  a  mournful  autumn,  though  the  Cure  and 
my  father  laboured  incessantly  by  exhortation, 
counsel  and  example,  to  keep  up  their  confi- 
dence in  the  care  of  Providence,  and  rouse  their 
desponding  spirits  to  cheerful  industry. 

I  felt  these  things  only  as  a  thoughtless  young 
girl  would  be  likely  to  notice  them,  for  Jacqui- 
line  had  ever  discouraged  my  wish  to  talk  with 
my  father  or  Claude  on  what  I  saw  so  deeply 
interested  them.  I  regretted  that  poor  old 
Antoine  had  become  so  dejected  since  the 
destruction  of  his  cottage,  which  no  kind  master 
was  near  to  repair,  that  we  seldom  heard  his 
violin  on  the  green  at  sunset ;  and  I  felt  sorry 
when  I  looked  at  the  melancholy  faces  of  the 
good  dames  as  they  sat  listlessly  at  their  cot- 
tages, no  longer  merrily  busy  over  their  lace 
cushions.  Even  the  children  were  affected  by 
the   general  sadness,    sporting  less  gaily  than 


26  THE  LAND  WITHOUT 

before ;  and  I  have  often  since  been  reminded 
of  the  silent  gloom  of  that  period  by  the  deep 
stillness  which  precedes  the  thunder  storm  that 
is  to  lay  the  loftiest  children  of  the  forest 
low. 


THE  SABBATH.  27 


CHAPTER  III. 

We  had  heard  little  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 
Chateau  during  the  summer.  One  old  domestic,, 
named  Jaques,  a  sort  of  house  steward,  perform- 
ed all  the  business  necessary  to  be  done  without 
the  walls,  the  purchases  being  generally  made 
at  the  nearest  market  town.  Jacquiline  was 
acquainted  with  the  housekeeper,  but  all  inter- 
course with  the  village  was  so  strictly  forbidden 
by  its  gloomy  mistress  that  she  seldom  saw  her, 
and  we  could  only  amuse  ourselves  with  conjec- 
tures on  the  appearances  and  pursuits  of  its 
inhabitants. 

We  were  busily  engaged  one  afternoon  in  the 
old  kitchen,  spinning  flax  for  our  household 
linen,  of  which  it  is  the  boast  of  Frenchwomen 
to  possess  a  large  store.  Henri,  having  deserted 
his  books  for  a  little  amusement,  was  seated  in 
the  door,  twisting  a  new  cage  for  the  magpie,  of 
green  osiers,  when  he  suddenly  started  to  his 
feet,  with  the  exclamation  that  Madam  Boullie, 


28  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

the  housekeeper,  was  coming  along  the  little 
winding  path  leading  from  the  Cure's.  Jacqui- 
line,  all  in  a  bustle  at  the  honor  of  this  visit, 
hastened  to  smooth  down  her  snowy  apron  and 
dust  the  ever  neat  chairs,  whilst  I  was  sent  to 
prepare  a  glass  of  home  made  wine  for  her 
refreshment. 

It  was  evident  from  her  hurried  manner  that 
the  poor  old  lady  was  bursting  with  some  im- 
portant and  sorrowful  news.  She  had  been  sent 
to  the  Cure  to  desire  his  presence  at  the  Chateau, 
but  being  absent  she  had  called  to  leave  the 
message  with  Jacquiline. 

"  Forty  years,"  she  continued,  "  have  I  lived 
at  the  Chateau,  and  such  doings  as  I  shall  wit- 
ness I  never  expected  to  see  there  !" 

Jacquiline  exclaimed  in  surprise. 

"  Ah  !  good  Jacquiline,  you  may  well  wonder 
to  see  me  shed  tears,  but  when  he  comes  to  the 
Chateau  nobody  knows  what  will  become  of  my 
lady  and  Mam'selle  !" 

"  He!"  exclaimed  Henri;  "  the  Compte?" 

To  us  children  there  had  ever  been  but  one 
terrible  he  in  the  world,  and  that  was  the 
Compte  d'Anjou,  such  tales  of  his    vindictive 


THE    SABBATH.  29 

anger  and  oppression,  such  unprovoked  cruelty 
to  his  lady  had  been  whispered  to  us. 

"Yes,  indeed!"  continued  Madam  Boullie, 
"  there's  my  lady  in  fits  weeping  over  poor 
Mademoiselle,  and  Jaques,  poor  man,  half  beside 
himself,  tearing  down  the  old  tapestry,  clearing 
out  the  wine  cellars,  scolding  the  maids,  whom 
nobody  but  me  ever  scolded  before  ;  turning  the 
whole  house  topsy  turvy,  and  all  because  my 
lord,  the  Compte,  has  sent  word  that  he  is 
coming  directly  to  the  Chateau,  to  stay,  the  saints 
above  knows  how  long,  and  with  nobody  can 
tell  how  many  strange  gentlemen  and  servants." 

We  were  all  mute  from  grief  and  astonish- 
ment, while  the  old  lady  went  on. 

"  And  besides  this,  his  messenger  says  that  all 
Paris  is  fighting  and  abusing  his  Majesty  the 
King,  who  is  a  great  deal  too  good  for  them ; 
and  threatening  to  murder  such  men  as  my  Lord, 
the  Compte  ;  and  that's  the  reason  he's  coming 
down  here  to  trouble  my  lady  and  his  sweet 
young  daughter,  whom  he  hates  just  because  he 
wanted  a  son.  And  this  man  laughed  at  us  too, 
showing  his  ill  manners,  because  we  did  not 
know,  shut  up  as  we  are,  that  the  people  all 
over  the  land  are  talking  about  liberty,  and 
4 


30  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

oppression,  and  rights  of  man — nonsense  that 
nobody  ever  heard  of  before.  This  morning  as 
he  passed  the  Chapel  the  wicked  wretch  laughed 
at  that  too,  saying  my  Lord  the  Compte  would 
use  it  for  his  dog-kennel,  and  make  his  chief 
huntsman  the  priest.  I  am  sure  I  had  a  glad 
heart  when  I  saw  his  face  turned  towards  Paris, 
and  I  humbly  hope,"  crossing  herself,  "  that  the 
holy  saints  will  keep  him  and  his  wicked  lord 
there  forever." 

We  all  agreed  in  this  prayer  of  poor  Madam 
Boullie's,  but  grief  and  respect  kept  us  silent. 
The  good  lady  would  not  taste  my  wine,  and 
after  relieving  her  heart  by  a  long  conversation 
with  Jacquiline,  who  accompanied  her  toward 
the  Chateau,  we  saw  her  no  more. 

When  my  father  appeared  he  had  a  news- 
paper in  his  hand,  for  which  he  had  been  some 
time  in  the  habit  going  weekly  to  the  post 
town,  and  after  reading  it  himself,  carefully  to 
put  away.  The  news  we  had  to  tell  him  only 
increased  the  pain  and  anxiety  that  marked  his 
countenance. 

After  our  simple  supper  of  milk  and  fruits,  he 
seated  himself  on  the  bench  at  the  door,  my 
brothers  on  either  side,  myself  at  his  feet,  while 


THE    SABBATH.  31 

Jacqniline  placed  herself  near  with  her  knitting, 
and  he  solemnly  addressed  us. 

He  said  that  out  of  regard  for  our  tender  years, 
and  from  the  general  peacefulness  of  our  village, 
he  had  been  unwilling  to  distress  us  with  bad 
news  sooner  than  could  be  avoided  ;  but  the 
time  he  believed  had  come  for  us  to  know  all, 
and  prepare  ourselves  by  trust  in  God,  and  firm 
adherence  to  the  religion  of  our  forefathers,  to 
do  our  duty  to  our  country,  and  bear  the  mis- 
fortunes that  he  feared  were  fast  approaching. 

He  then  explained  to  us  that  long  and  expen- 
sive wars  which  the  common  people  had  to  sup- 
port by  taxes,  from  which  the  clergy  and  nobility 
were  exempt,  had  enraged  them  against  their 
rulers.  That  vice  and  irreligion  prevailing 
throughout  the  land,  in  their  rage  the  people 
were  doing  the  most  wicked  and  unjust  actions  ; 
taking  up  arms  against  their  Lords,  and  even  in 
some  instances  killing,  and  destroying  the  pro- 
perty of  their  peaceful  neighbours,  who  refused 
to  join  them  in  their  deeds  of  violence.  Thus 
far,  he  said,  our  simple  villagers  had  taken  but 
little  interest  in  the  matter,  and  he  had  hoped 
we  might  continue  undisturbed  ;  but  the  appear- 
ance of  the  Compte  would  undoubtedly  make  a 


32  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

change,  bringing  with  him  as  he  certainly  would 
a  band  of  riotous  bad  men,  who  would  mix  with 
the  villagers,  filling  the  heads  of  the  weak  and 
ignorant  with  absurd  and  wicked  plans,  and 
pouring  the  poison  of  vice  over  our  peaceful 
hamlet. 

We  shuddered  at  the  mournful  picture  my 
father  drew. 

Compte  d'Anjou,  he  told  us,  had  awakened 
the  wrath  of  the  people  by  first  professing  to  be 
their  friend,  and  when  possessed  of  their  confi- 
dence, turning  to  what  was  called  the  Royal 
party,  although  he  was  distrusted  by  both  ;  and 
it  was  to  escape  the  just  indignation  of  the 
Parisians  that  he  was  hastening  to  the  Chateau. 

"  Your  duty,  my  sons,  is  to  hold  no  inter- 
course with  the  strangers,  except  what  polite- 
ness makes  necessary.  Listen  to  no  revilings 
of  your  king,  no  denials  of  your  God.  For  you, 
Henri,  I  do  not  fear — your  spirit  is  peaceful  and 
calm  ;  but  Claude,  my  son,  remember  that  need- 
less words  may  draw  the  vengeance  of  this  cruel 
man  on  your  family.  When  danger  approaches 
show  the  courage  of  a  man,  but  in  times  like 
these,  let  me  see  you  have  the  wisdom  of  the 
serpent,    with    the  harmlessness   of  the   dove ; 


TIIK    SABBATH.  33 

and  whatever  may  happen  to  me,  my  noble 
sons,  remember  I  commit  to  your  care  your 
sister,  your  faithful  nurse,  and  the  venerable 
Cure. 

Our  excellent  father's  address  was  evidently 
received  with  a  different  spirit  by  my  two  bro- 
thers. For  some  time  after  he  had  retired,  and 
when  the  shades  of  night  were  fast  gathering 
around  us,  I  observed  Claude  with  hasty  steps 
patrolling  under  the  chestnut  trees,  and  apparent- 
ly practising  some  military  movements.  Henri, 
on  the  contrary,  was  still  sitting  where  my 
father  had  left  him,  his  beautiful  dark  eye  fixed 
on  the  evening  sky,  and  when  I  came  to  remind 
him  that  it  was  time  to  retire,  1  heard  him  mur- 
mur, "  be  faithful  unto  death  and  I  will  give 
thee  a  crown  of  life  !" 

It  was  towards  the  evening  of  the  next  day 
that  the  unusual  sounds  of  horses  hoofs  loudly 
tramping  over  the  grass  grown  road,  which 
passed  through  the  village  to  the  Chateau,  told 
our  trembling  hearts  that  these  dreaded  strangers 
had  arrived.  Jacquiline  allowed  me  to  peep 
through  the  curtains  as  they  passed.  There  were 
about  fifty  persons,  generally  in  soldiers'  dress, 
4* 


34  THE    LAND   WITHOUT 

or  at  least  carrying  pistols  or  short  swords,  and 
in  the  midst,  mounted  on  a  noble  black  horse, 
rode  the  long  dreaded  Compte  d'Anjou.  Having 
hitherto  seen  few  countenances  that  did  not  speak 
kindness,  the  dark  and  gloomy  face  of  the 
Compte  chilled  me  with  terror,  forcing  me  to 
remember  those  acts  of  cruelty  of  which  I  had 
heard.  I  watched  the  tossing  of  his  dark  plume 
until  the  windings  of  the  road  hid  them  from  my 
view,  and  I  turned  away  in  wonder  that  all  faces 
were  not  so  mild  and  venerable  as  my  father's 
or  the  Cure. 

Every  thing  within  and  without  the  village 
now  bespoke  a  change.  Instead  of  Jaques1 
weekly  visit  to  the  market  town  with  his  quiet 
ass,  from  whence  he  was  always  seen  returning 
about  evening,  walking  by  the  side  of  Cadet, 
and  supporting  bis  well  laden  panniers,  the  poor 
old  man  was  now  constantly  hurrying  up  and 
down  the  village,  extorting  by  threats  of  his 
Lord,  or  promises  of  future  payment,  much  of 
the  little  provision  the  hurricane  had  left  us. 
Bands  of  ill-looking  men  loitered  about  talking 
with  the  peasants  over  their  palings  or  chatting 
with,  and  flattering  their  wives  and  daughters  ; 


THE    SABBATH.  35 

sometimes  they  might  be  seen  drinking  with 
them,  and  then  first  appeared  the  vice  of  intoxi- 
cation in  our  little  village  ;  or  they  played  with 
them  at  draughts  and  cards  for  the  few  pence  the 
poor  fellows  possessed. 

At  the  Chateau  things  were  no  better.  The 
poor  Comptesse  and  her  daughter  were  forced 
to  live  in  a  small  uncomfortable  apartment  in  one 
of  the  turrets,  attended  only  by  one  domestic  ; 
the  Compte,  as  we  were  afterwards  told,  refusing 
to  see  Mam'selle  Julie,  though  her  mother  so 
much  dreaded  his  wicked  companions,  that  I 
believe  she  was  well  satisfied  to  hide  her  from 
their  view. 

Poor  Father  Paul  visited  them  as  often  as  he 
dared,  for  the  Compte  forbade  his  performing 
any  of  the  services  of  religion  there,  which  he 
called  priest  craft  and  mummery,  so  that  it  was 
only  when  absent  on  hunting  excursions  that  he 
could  see  the  heart  broken  lady  and  her  child. 
All  these  troubles  fell  on  the  good  Cure  like  the 
frost  on  the  leaves  of  the  forest.  Many  a  long 
night  he  spent  with  bare  knees  on  the  earthen 
floor,  crying  for  mercy  on  his  poor  bewildered 
flock,  among  whom  the  pitiless  wolves  had 
entered  ;  and  all  day  he  went  unceasingly  from 


36  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

house  to  house,  counselling,  advising,  and  re- 
proving. 

At  last  the  brutal  strangers,  hating  him 
because  he  warned  his  flock  to  beware  of  their 
evil  example,  called  him  a  knave  and  fool,  mock- 
ing at  his  venerable  locks  and  tearful  eyes  ;  but 
then  the  indignation  of  the  villagers  broke  forth, 
and  they  spurned  the  insulters  from  their  doors. 
They  were  willing  to  share  in  their  gaming  and 
revelry,  they  could  listen  with  deep  interest 
when  these  men  talked  of  the  wrongs  and 
oppressions  which  they  and  their  ancestors  had 
borne  at  the  hands  of  the  Comptes  of  Anjou,  and 
did  not  shudder  much  when  they  hinted  at  dark 
plans  of  revenge  ;  but  when  these  strangers, 
whose  condescension  had  so  charmed  them, 
ridiculed  their  holy  religion  and  meek  gray- 
haired  pastor,  their  indignant  feelings  broke  forth 
and  they  turned  from  them  in  scorn. 

From  that  time,  happily,  there  was  little  inter- 
course between  the  strangers  and  the  village. 
Their  dark  and  haughty  master  at  their  head, 
amused  himself  with  hunting  day  after  day  ; 
treading  down  the  wheat  fields  and  vineyards  of 
his  vassals  in  ruthless  scorn,  only  answering  the 
good  Cure's  petitions  and  remonstrances  with 


THE    SABBATH.  37 

insult  and  derision  ;  whilst  the  villagers  closed 
their  houses  and  went  abroad  no  more  than  was 
necessary  ;  hiding  their  fears  and  wrongs  under 
the  shelter  of  their  humble  roofs. 


38  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 


CHAPTER  IV. 

It  happened,  one  cold  morning  in  the  pre- 
ceding winter,  that  my  brother  Claude,  in  cross- 
ing the  forest  which  rose  behind  the  Chateau, 
discovered  a  young  stag,  which,  having  been 
wounded  by  the  shot  of  some  wandering  sports- 
man, had  crawled  to  this  secluded  spot  to 
die.  Claude  was  tender  hearted  as  brave,  so  he 
carried  the  poor  little  moaning  thing  home  to 
our  cottage  and  committed  it  to  my  care. 
Father  Paul  taught  us  how  to  dress  its  wounds, 
Jacquiline  prepared  dainty  salads  for  it,  and  all 
in  the  family  loved  to  cherish  the  poor  timid 
stranger. 

In  a  few  weeks  he  recovered  and  repaid  our 
care  by  every  demonstration  of  affection..  He 
delighted  to  follow  me  round  the  house  or  gar- 
den, rubbing  his  graceful  head  just  crowned 
with  budding  antlers  against  my  hand,  or  stoop- 
ing to  lick  the  salt  I  loved  to  carry  him.    Bijou, 


THE    SABBATH.  39 

as  we  called  him,  was  the  pet  of  the  villagers 
also,  whose  houses  he  visited  with  the  utmost 
freedom,  sleeping  often  under  the  old  walnut 
tree  which  shaded  the  little  chapel,  or  on  the 
earthen  floor  of  Father  Paul's  cottage ;  though 
he  never  thoroughly  lost  his  love  for  his  forest 
home,  as  he  would  sometimes  return  thither  for 
a  week  at  a  time. 

We  got  accustomed  to  these  little  absences, 
and  I  often  amused  myself  by  imagining  Bijou's 
greetings  from  his  friends,  on  his  return  to  sa- 
vage life,  and  always  caressed  him  the  more 
when  affection  for  us  led  his  truant  steps  back 
to  the  cottage. 

It  was  on  the  third  Sunday  after  the  arrival 
of  the  gloomy  Compte,  just  as  the  villagers 
were  repairing  in  their  holiday  suits  to  the 
chapel,  that  the  winding  of  horns  was  heard ; 
and  a  long  train  of  gentlemen  and  servants 
mounted  for  a  hunting  party,  rode  rapidly  from 
beneath  the  low  gate  of  the  chateau,  and  took 
their  way  through  the  village. 

We  were  assembled,  as  usual,  in  our  little 
parlour,  where  my  father  was  preparing  to  in- 


40  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

struct  us  in  the  sacred  Scriptures,  when  the 
whole  party  rode  past  the  house ;  the  yelping 
of  the  hounds,  the  cries  of  their  leaders,  and 
occasionally  the  loud  voice  of  the  horn,  forming 
a  strong  contrast  with  our  own  peaceful  employ- 
ments. I  shuddered,  and  drew  my  stool  closer 
to  my  father,  for  I  remembered  that  Bijou  had 
returned  to  the  forest  two  days  before. 

The  morning  wore  on  in  peace,  except  when 
the  deep  baying  of  the  hounds  was  borne  to  us 
on  the  still  air,  telling  that  they  had  started 
some  trembling  inmate  of  the  forest  from  its 
hiding-place,  and  were  hunting  its  tired  limbs 
from  covert  to  covert  of  the  deep  wood.    - 

At  length  these  sounds  approached  the  village. 
Nearer  and  nearer  were  heard  the  winding  horn 
and  yells  of  dogs  ;— soon  the  tramplings  of 
hoofs  rose  on  the  ear,  and  forward  they  came, 
men,  dogs,  and  horses,  all  in  pursuit  of  one 
poor,  trembling,  worn-out  stag,  which,  in  the 
strong  instinct  of  nature  to  preserve  its  little  re- 
mains of  life,  dashed  forward  through  thicket 
and  stream,  over  fields,  orchards,  and  vineyards, 
until,    reaching   the    shelter   of   the  village,    it 


THE    SABBATH.  41 

sprang  into  the  open  door  of  the  chapel,  and 
bounding  over  the  kneeling  villagers,  sought 
safety  at  the  altar.* 

It  was  my  poor  Bijou. 

Fast  on  his  traces  poured  the  bellowing 
hounds,  headed  by  the  Compte  himself.  The 
foremost  gentlemen  having  thrown  themselves 
from  their  horses,  stood  with  their  leader  within 
the  sacred  walls,  and  each  holding  back  a  yell- 
ing hound  that  panted  and  struggled  to  reach  its 
trembling  prey,  and  their  eyes,  turned  to  the 
Compte,  waited  but  a  movement  from  his  lips 
to  desecrate  the  house,  as  they  already  had  the 
day  of  God.  The  villagers  having  risen  from 
their  knees,  stood  gazing  on  the  unwonted 
scene  in  indignant  astonishment,  while  the  vene- 
rable Cure,  clad  in  his  flowing  linen  robe, 
turned  his  majestic  countenance  to  the  intru- 
ders. 

With  one  movement  of  his  finger  toward  the 

*  The  reader  will  here  perceive  a  likeness  to  the  scene 
in  "  The  Wild  Huntsman,"  translated  by  Sir  W.  Scott. 
It  was  unintentional,  and  as  it  could  not  be  altered  with- 
out remoulding  the  chapter,  it  was  judged  better  to  leave 
it  with  this  acknowledgment. 
5 


42  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

prey,  their  lord  was  about  cheering  his  eager 
pack  to  the  altar,  when  the  clear  voice  of  the 
Cure,  in  sterner  accents  than  had  ever  been 
heard  from  his  lips,  rang  throughout  the  hum- 
ble building. 

"  Compte  of  Anjou  !  thou  faithless  to  God 
and  man  !  tempt  not  His  anger  by  shedding  the 
blood  of  innocence  on  his  sacred  altar !  Begone  ! 
call  hence  thy  vile  bands,  and  leave  thy  people 
in  peace  to  pray  for  mercy  on  thy  miserable 
soul!" 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence — in  another, 
loud  and  angry  murmurs  rose  among  the  stran- 
gers, whilst  the  villagers  gathered  around  their 
pastor  ;  but  at  this  instant  my  poor  Bijou  sprang 
through  the  open  window  of  the  sacristy;  the 
hounds,  with  horrid  cries,  darted  in  pursuit, 
and  the  huntsmen  followed,  cheering  them  for- 
ward. 

.  True  to  his  grateful  feelings,  Bijou  sought  his 
home  ; — another  bound,  and  he  would  have  been 
within  the  enclosure.  Henri  sprang  to  the 
door,  but,  alas  !  a  well-aimed  shot  had  done  its 
murderous  work,  and  I  received  the  dying  "stag 
into  my  bosom  !    Clinging  to  its  poor  bleeding 


THE   SABBATH,  43 

haunches  were  two  enormous  hounds,  and  others 
were  fast  encircling  us.  With  a  heavy  spade 
my  gallant  brother  struck  down  the  nearest  dog, 
and  kept  the  others  at  bay  until  assistance 
should  appear.  In  another  instant  we  were 
surrounded  by  the  huntsmen,  and  the  eyes  of 
the  terrible  Compte  were  fixed  upon  us. 

"  Insolent  peasant,"  he  exclaimed,  furious 
with  anger,  "  why  have  you  dared  to  stop  the 
sports  of  the  Compte  of  Anjou  !  Know  you 
not  that  I  can  have  you  whipped  in  yonder 
castle-yard  until  your  mangled  flesh  shall  feed 
my  hounds  !" 

Henri  stood  erect ;— his  dark  eyes  flashed 
even  brighter  than  Claude's,  and  touching  his 
peasant's  cap  respectfully  to  his  lord,  he  re- 
plied-— 

"In  protecting  a  poor  trembling  creature  that 
loved  me,  I  did  but  obey  the  feelings  which  my 
Creator  has  placed  here  !"  putting  his  hand  on 
his  heart — *'  for  your  lashes,  noble  Compte,  the 
time  has  passed  when  men  may  so  speak  to 
their  vassals — I  fear  them  not !" 

The   Compte  raised  his  whip,  but  glancing 


44  THE  LAND  WITHOUT 

his  eye  round  on  his  assembled  train,  the  indig- 
nant feeling  which  sparkled  there  taught  him 
that,  nobleman  as  he  was,  he  must  still  respect 
the  feelings  of  men.  Turning  slowly  round 
he  walked  away  in  sullen  silence,  and  the  at- 
tendants following  left  us  to  watch  the  dying 
eyes  of  poor  Bijou.  My  warm  tears  mingled 
with  those  that  trickled  down  the  face  of  my 
pretty  plaything,  and  when  stretching  out  his 
limbs,  his  life  passed  away  in  a  gentle  sigh,  a 
guilty  wish  for  revenge  against  his  cruel  mur- 
derers rose  in  my  heart. 

In  a  few  broken  words  we  described  the 
scene  to  my  father  and  Claude,  who  happily 
were  both  absent  at  the  moment.  A  meek  sigh 
soon  told  that  our  parent  had  learned  a  lesson 
of  submission  from  his  Redeemer,  but  Claude's 
honest  anger  was  not  so  soon  repressed. 

"  You  spoke  and  acted  nobly,  brother,"  he 
exclaimed;  "would  that  I  had  been  by  your 
side  : — the  tyrant  should  have  known  what  feel- 
ings are  glowing  in  the  hearts  of  Frenchmen  !" 

"  I  am  better  contented  as  it  is,  Claude," 
said  my  father,  mildly.     "  Henri's  conduct  and 


THE    SAB  HATH.  45 

words  were  worthy  of  a  boy  of  Christian  cou- 
rage, the  courage  to  resist  oppression  and  suc- 
cour the  weak,  and  thus  by  teaching  this  poor 
misguided  man  a  noble  lesson,  he  has  taken  the 
best,  the  only  revenge.     Let  us  pray." 

Can  my  little  boys  imagine— have  they  ever 
experienced  those  feelings  of  mingled  sorrow 
and  anger  with  which  I  listened  to  my  dear 
father's  prayer  for  that  bad  man  who  had  given 
my  heart  the  deepest  grief  it  had  ever  known  ? 
Have  they  ever  felt  how  hard  it  is  truly  to  for- 
give, and  wish  to  those  who  have  done  us 
wrong  a  pardoned  conscience  and  a  renewed 
heart  ?  Then  may  they  ever,  at  such  moments, 
enjoy  the  sweet  feelings  of  peace  which  stole 
over  me,  when  every  desire  for  revenge  sub- 
dued by  the  powerful  workings  of  God's  good 
Spirit,  I  gave  a  sobbing  amen  to  my  father's 
petitions  of  gentleness  and  love. 

No,  not  even  when  I  buried  my  pretty  pet  in 
the  garden,  and  hung  over  the  spot  the  last 
wreath  of  autumn  violets  I  had  entwined  to  gar- 
nish his  graceful  antlers,  did  a  wish  of  bitter- 
ness rise  within  my  heart.  But  I  thought  of 
5*  • 


46  THE  LAND  WITHOUT 

Mademoiselle  Julie,  shut  up  in  her  lonely  tur- 
ret, where  she  might  not  hear  the  harsh  tones 
of  her  father's  voice,  and  I  wished  that  she  had 
been  born  the  daughter  of  my  parent,  and  could 
enjoy,  as  I  did,  all  the  sweetness  of  a  humble 
home  of  peace  and  love. 


THE    SABBATH.  47 


CHAPTER  V. 

That  my  children  may  better  understand  the 
scenes  of  the  last  chapter,  it  will  be  necessary 
for  me  to  explain  a  little  more  the  peculiar  feel- 
ings of  the  people  at  that  time. 

I  have  told  you  that  the  peasantry,  being 
ignorant  and  unaccustomed  to  thinking  or  judg- 
ing for  themselves  in  matters  of  religion  or 
government,  had  for  centuries  left  these  subjects 
entirely  to  the  nobility  and  clergy,  contented  to 
fight  for  the  king  when  he  should  deem  it  neces- 
sary, and  worship  their  God  at  such  times  and 
in  such  manner  as  their  spiritual  guides  told 
them  was  right.  Few  could  read  the  Scriptures, 
did  they  possess  them,  and  fewer  still  knew  of 
that  holy  Book  except  by  name. 

In  the  meanwhile  a  class  of  learned  men  had 
risen  up  in  the  great  cities,  philosophers,  as 
they  loved  to  call  themselves,  who  were  quite 
too  wise  to  be  guided  by  any  rules  but  those 


48  -        THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

which  their  own  hearts  furnished,  (alas  !  they 
knew  not  until  temptation  was  spread  before 
them  how  vile  and  hard  those  hearts  could  be- 
come,) and  derided  the  humble  Christian  who 
walked  in  holy  fear.  To  them  the  services  of 
religion  and  its  faithful  ministers  were  objects 
of  ridicule,  and  if  their  hearts  acknowledged 
any  Deity,  like  the  ancient  heathen  it  was  one 
of  their  own  imagination. 

Yet  these  persons  pretended,  nay,  many  ac- 
tually felt  great  compassion  for  their  ignorant 
and  oppressed  countrymen,  and  determined  to 
enlighten  them.  Had  they  broken  the  mental 
chains  which  enslaved  them,  and  at  the  same 
moment  placed  in  their  hands  the  sacred  Word 
which  teaches  us  "  to  love  our  enemies,"  "  as 
much  as  lieth  in  us  to  live  peaceably  with  all 
men,"  and  "  to  do  unto  others  as  we  would 
they  should  do  unto  us,"  they  might  have 
turned  the  infuriated  peasant  into  the  lamb-like 
child  of  God,  and  my  beautiful  country  might 
now  be  rich  in  "  the  peaceable  fruits  of  righte- 
ousness." 

These  poor  infatuated  men  began  to  talk  of 
establishing  a  new  order  of  things  upon  the 


THE    SABBATH.  49 

earth,  which  was  quite  to  abolish  the  pure  pre- 
cepts of  our  Redeemer  ;  (alas,  many  of  them 
knew  little  of  those  precepts  beyond  the  name 
of  the  book  in  which  they  were  contained  !) 
and  this  new  era  was  to  be  called  the  reign  of 
reason;  under  it  man  was  to  act  from  his  innate 
goodness,  the  fear  or  the  love  of  God  being 
quite  banished  from  his  mind.  Your  grand- 
mother lived  to  witness  that  reign  in  all  its 
horrors,  and  it  is  to  warn  you,  my  children,  of 
the  consequences  of  such  dreadful  errors,  that 
I  have  determined,  at  the  expense  of  many  a  sad 
tear  and  mournful  recollection,  to  describe  a  few 
of  the  horrible  scenes  which  my  own  eyes  beheld 
during  the  boasted  reign  of  reason. 

Now  many  of  the  Compte's  friends  and  at- 
tendant's were  men  of  this  character,  and  there- 
fore they  applauded  the  reply  of  my  noble 
brother,  such  a  one  as  perhaps  never  before 
vassal  had  dared  to  utter  before  a  descendant  of 
the  haughty  house  of  Anjou  ;  whilst  their  enmity 
to  what  appeared  to  be  uttered  on  the  authority 
of  God  made  them  resent  the  reproof  of  Father 
Paul  as  intolerable  insolence.  I  now  proceed 
with  my  tale. 


50  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

It  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  either  the  Cure 
or  my  brother  would  escape  the  vengeance  of 
such  a  man  as  the  Compte.  To  prepare  us 
therefore  for  the  worst,  and  accustom  us  to  look 
at  poverty  and  misfortune,  niy  father  used  to 
read  to  us  daily  the  accounts  which  he  received 
of  the  discontents  and  disorders  of  the  peasantry, 
with  the  terrible  acts  of  violence  they  were 
eommiting  in  all  parts  of  France,  marking  as 
their  victims  the  lords  of  their  estates,  and  even 
their  own  peaceful  neighbours  who  dared  to 
express  pity  for  their  sufferings.  The  insur- 
rection was  all  around  us,  the  Compte  stood 
wavering  between  the  people  and  the  Royalists, 
and  it  wanted  but  one  word  from  this  bad  man 
to  throw  the  fire-brands  of  discord  into  our  very 
hamlet. 

They  came  at  length,  though  not  from  his 
hand.  News  arrived  that  the  peasants  of  a 
village  but  a  few  Leagues  from  us,  excited  by  a 
band  of  ferocious  men  from  Paris,  armed  with 
pikes  and  goaded  on  by  approaching  famine,  had 
broken  open  and  pillaged  the  Chateau  of  their 
lord,  a  man  distinguished  for  the  mildness  of  his 
character,   and   after   pitilessly   murdering   the 


THE    SABBATH.  51 

few  servants  who  dared  to  make  any  opposition, 
had  set  fire  to  it,  and  were  now  on  their  way  to 
the  Chateau  d'Anjou.  Resistance  to  such  a 
mob  was  hopeless,  particularly  as  the  Compte 
had  few  real  friends  among  his  followers.  Aban- 
doning therefore  his  wife  and  innocent  daugh- 
ter to  the  fury  of  an  armed  peasantry,  he  escaped 
in  disguise,  his  Parisian  friends  dispersing  as 
they  best  could. 

I  do  not  wish  to  pain  your  young  minds  with 
the  particulars  of  that  night's  work  of  terrors. 

The  morning  sun  rose  brightly  on  snow 
covered  hills  and  lovely  forests  whitened  by  the 
early  frosts  of  winter  ;  the  works  of  God  shone 
in  beauty  and  perfection,  but  alas,  where  the 
white  walls  of  the  venerable  castle  had  received 
his  setting  beams  stood  a  smouldering  mass  of 
ruins.  Its  lofty  turrets  raised  themselves  on 
high,  but  they  were  roofless,  and  a  cloud  of  dull 
lurid  looking  flame  occasionally  flashed  up  as 
the  devouring  element  within  found  new  food 
for  its  appetite.  Of  that  noble  building  that  had 
long  formed  our  boast,  little  was  left  but  four 
blackened  walls.  Its  noble  terraces  were  pros- 
trated, its  lofty  walls  which  had  long  provoked 


52  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

our  curiosity  by  so  effectually  concealing-  what 
was  beyond,  were  in  many  places  levelled  with 
the  ground,  and  we  beheld  with  aching  hearts 
those  mysterious  and  sacred  garden  walks 
trampled  and  destroyed  by  the  feet  of  strangers. 

And  she  whom  these  walls  had  so  long  pro- 
tected— the  youthful  heiress  of  the  estate — 
where  was  she?     Alas,  we  knew  not! 

In  the  silence  of  night  the  ruffians  had  ap- 
peared. I  heard  their  dreadful  shouts  for  ven- 
geance, but  I  would  not  tremble,  for  Claude's 
eye  was  upon  me,  Claude  who  always  had  said 
he  should  despise  a  coward.  Our  cottage  roof 
often  blazed  from  the  burning  brands  which 
the  wind  carried  thither,  but  assisted  by  Jacqui- 
line,  I  drew  water  from  the  well  and  supplied 
my  brothers  with  the  means  of  extinguishing  it 
until  long  after  the  dawning  of  morning  showed 
us  the  desolation  of  the  scene.  My  father  and 
the  Cure  had  been  absent  all  the  night,  we  knew 
not  where,  but  Claude  and  Henri,  prudent  as 
brave,  busied  themselves  in  preserving  the  pro- 
perty which  my  father  had  committed  to  their 
care,  and  mingled  not  in  the  mob  of  the  village. 

Disappointed  in  not  finding  the  Compte,  the 


THE    SABBATH.  53 

chief  object  of  their  search,  the  brigands  con- 
tented themselves  with  beating  and  driving  off 
poor  old  Jaques,  the  only  person  left,  pillaging 
the  castle  and  then  setting  it  in  flames. 

By  noon  they  had  departed  for  another  scene 
of  plunder,  leaving  a  part  of  their  number  as  a 
guard. 

A  mournful  picture  did  our  once  happy  vil- 
lage present,  when  we  could  find  time  to  con- 
template it.  The  inhabitants,  few  and  unarmed, 
dared  not  resist  the  strangers  who  had  established 
themselves  among  us,  and  who,  intoxicated  by 
the  wine  which  was  quaffed  in  the  castle  yard 
as  freely  as  water,  entered  wherever  they  could, 
and  behaved  to  young  and  old  with  insolence. 

The  young  girls  were  generally  secreted  in 
hiding  places  to  avoid  their  bold  looks,  and  most 
of  the  inhabitants  fastening  their  doors,  beheld 
through  the  latticed  casements  their  little  gar- 
dens and  vineyards  as  ruthlessly  trodden  down 
and  destroyed  by  those,  who  boasted  they  had 
come  to  deliver  them  from  oppression,  as  ever 
they  had  been  under  the  haughty  Compte  of 
Anjou. 

This  state  of  things  continued  about  a   week. 


54  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

At  the  end  of  that  time,  misled  by  some  false 
information  about  the  Compte,  all  departed  but 
one  or  two  drunken  wretches,  who  acted  as 
guard,  and  prevented  the  villagers  from  rescuing 
any  of  the  property. 

We  would  have  questioned  my  father  about 
his  absence  on  the  night  of  the  fire,  but  giving 
us  to  understand  that  he  would  explain  it  when 
it  was  safe  to  do  so,  we  were  silent,  consider- 
ing it  in  some  way  connected  with  the  safety  of 
the  Comptesse  and  her  daughter.  Nor  were  we 
mistaken. 

On  the  first  alarm,  my  father  and  the  Cure, 
anticipating  the  Compte's  desertion  of  his  family, 
arranged  their  plans,  and  accordingly  as  soon  as 
the  gloom  of  evening  made  it  safe,  hastened  to 
the  castle.  Horses  had  been  prepared  for  them 
within  the  wood  at  a  secret  outlet.  My  father 
took  charge  of  the  unfortunate  lady  and  the 
Cure  of  Mademoiselle,  both  in  the  disguise  of 
peasants,  and  they  proceeded  in  opposite  direc- 
tions as  fast  as  their  horses  would  travel.  The 
lady  found  shelter  with  an  aunt,  not  far  distant 
from  our  village,  and  the  Cure  obtained  a  hiding 


THE    SABBATH.  55 

place  for  the  poor  young  lady  in  a  convent,  her 
name  and  rank  being  carefully  concealed. 

Since  our  villagers,  though  not  defenders  of 
their  lord,  had  still  done  nothing  for  the  cause  of 
the  people,  as  the  burning  and  plundering  was 
called,  we  were  looked  upon  by  the  excited 
towns  and  villages  around  us  with  a  suspicious 
eye.  Men  armed  with  pikes  and  bludgeons 
wrere  constantly  loitering  about,  on  pretence  of 
searching  for  the  Compte,  but  in  truth  that  they 
might  entrap  our  simple  people  in  some  offen- 
sive words  which  would  furnish  them  with  an 
excuse  for  burning  our  houses  as  they  had 
already  destroyed  the  Chateau. 

Thus  our  days  and  nights  were  spent  in 
watchfulness  and  fear,  while  to  all  was  added 
the  horror  of  approaching  starvation.  Availing 
themselves  of  the  advantages  which  burning 
barns  and  store-houses  afforded,  the  villagers 
about  us  had  relieved  themselves  from  the  fear 
of  immediate  want  by  taking  freely  from  the 
abundance  of  the  nobles  whose  property  they 
were  destroying,  but  it  is  to  the  honor  of  the 
inhabitants  of  St.  Marie  la  bonne,  that  they  suf- 
fered hunger  to  approach  within  their  very  doors 


56  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

and  still  refused    to    touch   what    could   never 
honestly  be  theirs. 

None  in  the  village  were  rich.  My  father 
was  perhaps  the  farthest  removed  from  poverty 
among  them,  it  therefore  became  our  duty  and 
sweetest  pleasure  to  share  our  store  with  our 
suffering  neighbours ;  and  in  these  benevolent 
acts  my  dear  brother  Henri  distinguished  him- 
self both  by  self-denial  and  generous  efforts.  It 
suited  his  gentle  nature  to  "go  about  doing 
good,"  and  during  that  sorrowful  period  he 
gained  for  himself  the  well  deserved  appellation 
of  Henri  le  bon. 


THE    SABBATH.  57 


CHAPTER  VI. 

As  soon  afier  the  burning  of  the  Chateau  as 
circumstances  rendered  safe,  poor  old  Jaques 
crawled  back  to  the  village,  that  he  might  at 
least  die  near  the  ruins  of  what  had  to  him  been 
the  most  glorious  spot  on  the  earth — the  Castle 
d'Anjou.  He  had  been  born  in  it,  his  father  and 
grandfather  having  been  stewards  successively 
in  the  days  of  its  magnificence  ;  he  had  lived  for 
the  service  of  its  family,  and  now,  that  family 
fugitives  and  that  sacred  mansion  a  heap  of 
ruins,  why  should  an  old  grey  headed  man  like 
him  desire  to  live. 

We  wept  as  he  said  this,  for  he  looked 
broken  hearted.  Fearing  to  endanger  the  safety 
of  any  of  the  villagers  by  accepting  their  offers 
of  concealment,  the  old  man  found  shelter  in  a 
half  ruined  shed  between  the  village  and  a 
lonely  spot,  which  had  been  used  as  a  burial 
place  for  the  family  at  the  Chateau. 

It  was  winter,  though  not  a  severe  one,  and 
6* 


58  THE  LAND  WITHOUT 

poor  Jaques  dared  not  trust  himself  with  a  fire, 
lest  its  smoke,  winding  among  the  leafless 
branches,  should  betray  the  place  of  his  retreat. 
We  conveyed  blankets  and  other  comforts  to 
him  in  the  darkness  of  the  night,  and  would 
gladly  have  brought  him  to  our  house,  but  he 
resisted  all  our  entreaties  and  we  were  forced  to 
leave  him  to  the  shelter  he  had  chosen.  When 
the  village  was  sufficiently  clear  of  strangers  to 
allow  of  my  doing  it  with  safety,  I  used  to  bend 
my  steps  thither  every  morning  with  his  provi- 
sion ;  but  it  grieved  me  to  find  that  his  strength 
wasted  so  rapidly  that  in  a  short  time  his  totter- 
ing steps  would  scarcely  carry  him  to  the  door. 
Yet  his  appetite  seemed  good,  for  let  me  take 
him  ever  so  much,  there  remained  none  the  next 
day. 

I  went  one  morning  as  usual.  A  slight  snow 
having  fallen  the  preceding  night,  I  was  terrified 
at  perceiving  on  the  lonely  path,  the  tracks,  as  I 
feared,  of  a  horseman.  My  first  thought  was  to 
retreat,  but  another,  presenting  before  my  mind's 
eye  the  figure  of  poor  old  Jaques  dying,  and  per- 
haps alone,  bade  me  quicken  my  steps  forward; 
breathing  a  prayer  therefore  to  my  heavenly 
Parent  to  protect   me   in  the  discharge  of  my 


THE    SABBATH.  59 

duty,  I  hastened  on.  The  hoof  marks  continued 
to  be  distinctly  printed  upon  the  snow  and  the 
way  became  more  lonely,  but  when  I  turned 
round  and  saw  the  roofs  of  the  cottages  and  the 
glittering  spire  of  the  Chapel,  pleasant  thoughts 
of  home  and  safety  inspired  my  heart,  and  with 
a  few  bounds  I  gained  the  door  of  the  shed. 

It  stood  partly  open,  but  no  blood  stained  the 
pure  snow  around  as  my  excited  imagination 
had  pictured.  I  pushed  it  open — what  a  scene 
of  tenderness  and  woe  was  presented.  Stretched 
on  his  miserable  bed,  pale  and  corpse-like, 
Jaques  lay  sleeping,  and  close  beside,  as  if  to 
shelter  his  dying  master  with  his  warm  shaggy 
coat,  lay  his  poor  old  Ass  ! 

In  the  outrages  of  that  dreadful  night,  the  very 
insignificance  of  old  Cadet  proved  his  safety. 
Too  slow  for  flight,  the  dispersed  family  had 
chosen  more  noble  animals,  too  contemptible  to 
gratify  revenge  by  his  death,  he  had  been  allow- 
ed to  pass  unnoticed  from  the  castle  gates.  Since 
that  time  he  had  wandered  about  the  village, 
sharing  the  scanty  provender  with  our  own 
animals,  but  attaching  himself  to  no  one.  It  was 
well  known  how  fondly  he  and  Jaques  had 
loved  each  other,  and  we  used  to  say,  "  poor 


00  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

Cadet,  it  would  break  thy  master's  heart  to  see 
thy  lean  sides  !"— and  after  the  return  of  Jaques 
the  condition  of  his  poor  old  ass  had  been  daily 
regretted.  By  some  means  Cadet  had  traced 
his  master's  retreat,  and  I  thought  had  come  to 
die  with  him. 

It  was  with  some  difficulty  I  succeeded  in 
arousing  Jaques,  for  the  stupor  of  death  was 
gathering  upon  him. 

"  See,  Manon,"  said  the  old  man,  pointing  to 
his  faithful  servant,  "  see,  Manon,  something 
yet  loves  me  and  will  be  sorry  when  I  die." 

"  Good  Jaques,"  I  exclaimed,  "  you  must 
not  talk  of  dying  !  Jacquiline  hopes  you  relished 
the  soup  I  brought  you  yesterday.  It  should 
have  been  better,  but  our  barley  is  quite  gone," 
— my  eyes  filling  with  tears  at  the  recollection 
of  how  many  more  of  our  necessaries  were  quite 
gone,  which  we  knew  not  how  to  replace. 

He  shook  his  head  sadly  and  pointing  to  the 
unconsumed  provisions  of  yesterday,  said, 

"  God  bless  you,  my  child  !  one  favour  more 

1  must  beg — hasten  for  Father  Paul — be  quick — 
tell  him  to  come  directly — now — I  cannot  die 
till  it  is  told  !" 

I  lost  no  time  in  executing  his  wish,  for  his 


THE    SABBATH.  Gl 

eye  was  strangely  glazed,  and  its  look  was 
deadly  ;  in  a  short  time  Father  Paul  was  with 
him. 

Evening  had  nearly  set  in  when  the  Cure  ap- 
peared leading  poor  old  Cadet  by  his  broken 
halter ;  we  needed  nothing  more  to  tell  us  that 
all  was  over.  My  father  and  he  conversed  long 
together,  and  though  I  wondered  much  what  it 
was  that  Jaques  could  not  die  without  communi- 
cating to  the  Cure,  I  did  not  venture  to  name  it, 
being  convinced  of  my  father's  superior  wisdom 
in  locking  all  secrets  unnecessary  for  us  to  know 
in  the  silence  of  his  own  bosom. 

The  remains  of  poor  Jaques  were  interred  by 
night  in  the  village  church  ;  so  secretly  were  we 
obliged  to  perform  even  the  last  acts  of  kindness 
to  any  one  who  had  served  the  hated  house  of 
Anjou  ;  many  a  time  afterwards  I  saw  the  poor 
old  ass  turning  into  the  village  from  the  narrow 
path  which  led  to  the  hut  where  his  master  had 
died,  evidently  returning  from  an  unsuccessful 
search  for  him  whom  he  had  loved  and  served  so 
long. 

It  was  about  a  week  after  the  burial  of  Jaques 
that  my  father  took  me  to  his  room  and  holding 
my  trembling  hand  in  his,  thus  addressed  me. 


62  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

"  My  clear  Manon,  you  are  scarcely  passed 
the  age  of  childhood,  yet  in  the  perilous  circum- 
stances by  which  we  are  surrounded  I  have  ob- 
served you  act  with  so  much  prudence  and 
courage  as  to  warrant  my  trusting  you  with  an 
important  secret,  the  betrayal  of  which,  either 
by  fear  or  foolishness,  will  certainly  cause  the 
destruction  of  a  fellow  being,  and  too  probably 
that  of  your  parent  and  Father  Paul  beside." 

"Listen  to  me,  Manon.  You  remember  ob- 
serving that  although  poor  old  Jaques  received 
his  food  regularly  his  strength  wasted  away 
in  a  manner  we  could  not  understand,  seeming 
as  if  sustenance  refused  its  accustomed  nourish- 
ment to  his  feeble  frame,  and  how  we  concluded 
that  grief  was  wearing  him  to  the  grave.  We 
were  all  mistaken.  The  faithful  old  man — 
listen,  my  daughter,  and  learn  a  painful  lesson  of 
self  devotion — the  faithful  old  man  sought  that 
hut  that  he  might  succor  one  whom  he  had  been 
taught  to  believe  it  his  duty  to  die  for ;  he  sub- 
sisted on  the  very  smallest  portion  of  what  little 
we  could  spare  him  nightly,  leaving  the  re- 
mainder to  one  who  was  concealed  near  him  !" 

"  The  Comptesse,  father !"  I  exclaimed. 

"  No,  my  daughter,  not  the  Comptesse;  she 


THE    SABBATH.  63 

is  still,  we  hope,  in  comparative  safety  : — to  one 
whom  we  should  pity  far  more — it  was  to  the 
Compte  of  Anjou  !  The  faithful  creature  literally 
starved  his  feeble  frame  to  death,  that  the  last 
of  the  family  he  had  been  taught  to  revere  and 
serve  beyond  all  other  earthly  service  might  be 
preserved,  and  the  morsel  which  our  slender 
means  allowed  him  was  taken  from  his  own 
famishing  lips  to  sustain  his  lord  !  Jaques  died 
of  hunger !" 

My  children  will  readily  believe  that  my  tears 
flowed  fast  at  my  father's  words. 

"  He  revealed  this,  with  the  place  of  his 
master's  retreat,  only  when  dying  ;  committing 
him  to  Father  Paul's  care  with  many  prayers." 

"And  has  the  Cure  seen  him — has  he  been 
alone  with  him?"  I  exclaimed,  shuddering. 

"  Yes,  my  child,  and  without  fear.  Driven 
from  the  cheerful  day  and  the  abodes  of  men, 
hunted  like  a  wild  beast,  enduring  hunger  and 
confinement, — all  these  have  done  what  pros- 
perity failed  to  accomplish,  and  in  manner  at 
least  the  Compte  is  a  changed  man.  He  has 
even  permitted  Father  Paul  to  speak  to  him  of 
his  sins  and  to  point  in  his  present  condition  to 
the  judgments  of  heaven.     He  did  not  profess 


64  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

sorrow  for  the  past,  it  is  true,  but  he  was  silent 
and  thoughtful.  He  suffers  much  in  his  present 
hiding  place  from  cold  and  hunger,  but  it  is  still 
unsafe  for  him  to  venture  abroad.  The  Cure,, 
who  since  the  death  of  Jaques  has  nightly 
carried  him  provision,  is  most  unfortunately 
summoned  to  a  distance  on  important  business, 
and  Manon,  my  daughter,  after  long  delibe- 
ration, we  have  determined  to  place  the  dan- 
gerous, but  noble  task  of  sustaining  his  life,  in 
your  hands  !" 

I  had  been  brought  up  in  perfect  submission 
to  my  father  ;  I  mean  by  that  not  only  doing 
his  will,  but  doing  it  cheerfully  and  without 
question  ;  it  was  some  minutes  therefore  before 
I  could  speak,  and  then  I  only  sobbed  out  the 
name  of  Bijou. 

"  It  is  true,  my  child,  this  man  in  his  cruel 
sport  murdered  your  favourite,  it  is  also  true  that 
he  would  have  punished  your  brother  unjustly  ; 
nay,  had  power  been  allowed  him,  doubtless  he 
would  have  dragged  down  ruin  upon  your 
family.  What  of  that !  Is  it  not  written,  *  if 
thine  enemy  hunger,  feed  him  ! — if  he  thirst, 
give 'him  drink  !'  Here,  Manon,  is  a  positive 
command  which  we  dare  not  disobey,  and  such 


THE    SABBATH.  65 

an  opportunity,  my  daughter,  for  cultivating  the 
christian  graces  of  love  and  forgiveness  as  may 
never  again  occur.  You  cannot  risk  your  own 
life  to  save  this  man's  and  see  him  thus  depend- 
ant upon  the  efforts  of  a  weak  child,  without  the 
love  of  benevolence  taking  the  place  of  that 
shuddering  horror  which  you  now  feel,  and 
which  I  blame  myself  for  suffering  to  grow  in 
your  bosom." 

He  then  proceeded  to  inform  me,  that  as  here- 
tofore the  questions  and  suspicions  of  the  mob 
had  been  chiefly  aimed  at  the  men  of  the  village, 
the  Cure  and  himself  had  thought  it  best  for  the 
safety  of  the  family,  that  my  brothers  should 
remain  in  ignorance  of  what  he  had  just  com- 
municated. 

Finding  himself  searched  for  with  more  vigi- 
lance every  where  than  at  the  Chateau,  the 
Compte  had  chosen  the  place  of  his  concealment 
among  the  tombs  of  his  ancestors.  One  mauso- 
leum, recently  constructed,  was  untenanted,  and 
the  key  of  it  happened  to  be  in  Jaques  posses- 
sion. Here  he  had  been  for  nearly  three  weeks, 
subsisting  on  the  little  which  Jaques  and  the 
Cure  had  nightly  brought  him ;  this  supply  it  was 


66  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

my  father's  command  I  should  continue  to  him 
whilst  he  remained. 

I  had  heartily  forgiven  the  Compte  as  it 
seemed  to  me  ;  I  wished  him  to  become  abetter 
and  therefore  a  happier  man,  but  I  had  never 
imagined  the  possibility  of  my  seeing  him  again, 
least  of  all  in  that  lonely  situation;  and  such  were 
my  feelings  of  horror,  had  it  not  been  the  com- 
mand of  my  parent  I  confess  I  could  not  have 
attempted  it. 

I  had  none  of  the  foolish  fears  which  a  wrong 
education  gives  so  many  children  of  the  resting 
places  of  the  dead  ;  neither  did  the  hour  of  mid- 
night give  me  any  particular  alarm,  knowing  that 
the  Almighty  arm  guarded  me  as  safely  then  as 
at  noonday  ;  the  path  too,  winding  through  a 
lonely  valley  where  in  summer  I  often  wander- 
ed searching  for  flowers,  or  in  the  autumn  for 
hazlenuts  with  the  village  children — I  was  per- 
fectly familiar  with  it ;  but  meeting  the  angry 
eyes  of  this  terrible  Compte  of  Anjou  ! 

Poor  child  !  little  did  I  know  what  changes 
fear  and  hunger  can  work. 

On  the  first  night  of  my  mission  I  set  out,  my 
heart   sinking   with    terror   from  thoughts  like 


THE    SABBATH.  67 

these.  Crossing  a  broken  part  of  the  wall  and 
proceeding  to  a  white  marble  tomb  which  had 
been  described  to  me,  I  gave  the  appointed 
signal.  A  light  instantly  flashed  through  the 
apertures  at  the  side  of  the  tomb,  the  door  turned 
slowly  back  on  its  hinges,  and  a  face  appeared — 
the  Compte's  indeed,  but  how  changed  ! — pale, 
ghastly,  and  thin,  his  black  locks  matted,  his 
eyes,  no  longer  sparkling  with  haughty  pride, 
seemed  eagerly  asking  the  food  he  expected  of 
me. 

"  Bless  you,  my  good  girl  !"  he  said  in  a 
hollow  voice — the  door  closed  and  I  slowly 
returned  home.  Where  were  all  my  long 
cherished  feelings  of  horror  for  the  Compte 
d'Anjou  ?~ gone  !  I  now  saw  in  him  nothing  but 
a  poor,  suffering,  fellow  being,  who  looked  to 
me  for  sustenance,  and  I  longed  for  the  stars  of 
another  midnight  to  arise,  that  I  might  again 
enjoy  the  luxury  of  doing  good.  Such  delights 
hath    God    prepared    for    those    who    do    His 

will. 

My  labours  ceased  at  the  end  of  eight  days. 

The  Compte  escaped,  I  know  not  how  for  my 

father  never  named  him  to   me,  an  intelligent 

look  bein£  all  that  we  ever  ventured.      Soon 


68  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

after  the  Cure  returned  with  a  wagon  load  of 
grain  and  other  necessaries,  which  he  had  been 
able  to  collect  for  us  in  the  surrounding  country, 
and  thus  were  we  mercifully  delivered  when  at 
the  brink  of  despair. 


THE   SABBATH.  G9 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Thus  far  I  have  confined  my  story  to  the 
events  of  our  village,  which,  sad  as  they  were, 
gave  a  picture  of  perfect  happiness  compared 
with  those  which  desolated  many  other  parts  of 
my  beautiful  country.  But  I  wish  to  exhibit  to 
your  view  a  land  where  religion  was  systemat- 
ically destroyed ;  where  reason  alone  and  the  na- 
tural goodness  of  man's  heart  were  to  be  the  only 
restraints  upon  his  actions.  In  mercy  perhaps 
to  the  rest  of  the  world,  God  allowed  that  land 
to  overturn  His  altars  and  revel  in  infidelity  that 
other  nations  might  worship  in  fear  and  holy 
awe.  Properly  to  fulfil  my  purpose,  it  will  be 
necessary  for  me  now  to  lead  your  attention  to 
more  public  events. 

I  have  already  described  to  you  the  ignorance 
of  the  peasantry,  the  haughty  contempt  of  the 
nobility,  and  the  irreligion  of  the  educated  class, 
or  men  of  letters.  You  remember,  too,  the  de- 
termination of  these  last  to  enlighten  the  minds 
7* 


70  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

of  their  countrymen,  and  at  the  same  moment 
destroy  the  prejudices  of  religion,  as  these  phi- 
losophers chose  to  call  our  most  holy  faith. 

For  centuries  previous  to  this  period  the  kings 
of  France  had  been  devoted  to  war  and  splen- 
dor, which  the  nobles,  sharing  the  glory  without 
the  expense,  loved  to  encourage.  The  crown 
had. long  descended  to  those  who  consulted  only 
the  gratification  of  their  own  extravagant  wishes; 
the  people  submitting,  it  is  true,  but  only  be- 
cause they  dared  not  murmur.  Unlike  his  pre- 
decessors, it  was  the  misfortune  of  our  present 
King,  Louis  XVI.,  to  combine  a  real  love  for  his 
people  and  a  sincere  desire  for  their  welfare  in 
preference  to  his  own,  with  a  weakness  and 
irresolution  of  character  which  exposed  him  to 
undeserved  contempt.  Awake  to  a  knowledge 
of  the  injustice  which  for  so  many  centuries  had 
oppressed  them  and  for  the  first  time  permitted 
to  murmur,  on  his  luckless  head  they  poured  all 
the  reproaches  which  his  ancestors  should  have 
borne. 

The  grandeur  and  long  wars  of  former  sove- 
reigns had  brought  the  common  people,  who,  as 
I  before  told  you,  alone  bore  the  expense,  to  the 
brink  of  ruin ;   and  though  Louis  tried  many 


THE  SABBATH.  71 

measures  to  improve  their  condition,  yet,  as  in 
the  case  of  a  person  ill  of  a  mortal  disease,  the 
remedies  must  be  violent  if  we  would  preserve 
life,  the  very  severity  of  those  measures  only 
served  to  exasperate  the  people  against  one 
whom  they  knew  to  be  too  amiable  to  punish. 

In  the  meanwhile,  two  parties  were  pouring 
the  poison  of  their  opinions  into  the  minds  of 
the  unhappy  people  by  means  of  newspapers 
and  journals,  sent  all  over  the  country  to  those 
who  could  read,  public  speeches  made  daily 
wherever  a  crowd  of  the  discontented  could  be 
gathered,  and  more  powerfully  still  by  secret 
societies  formed  in  each  town  or  village  all  over 
France.  The  first  of  these  parties,  and  by  far 
the  better  of  the  two,  were  the  philosophers — 
or  infidels,  who  wanted  only  a  moderate  degree 
of  liberty.  The  second  was  the  Jacobin  Club, 
equally  infidel,  but  violent  and  uneducated ;  it 
panted  for,  it  knew  not  what,  and  at  last  deluged 
the  land  with  the  blood  of  its  best  and  bravest. 

Unfortunately  the  troops,  which  in  a  country 
governed  as  France,  are  always  the  guardians  of 
the  King,  joined  with  these  parties,  and  although 
they  were  assembled  round  his  dwelling  as  usual, 
it  was  rather  to  imprison  than  protect  him. 


72  THE  LAND  WITHOUT 

Whilst  the  agitations  which  afflicted  our  own 
little  village  in  the  way  I  have  attempted  to  de- 
scribe were  carried  to  far  greater  excess  in  most 
other  parts  of  the  country,  by  the  rich  and  poor 
waging  war  against  each  other,  in  which  the 
peasantry  were  too  often  successful,  burning, 
plundering,  and  murdering,  Paris,  the  capital, 
was  particularly  liable  to  disturbance.  All  classes 
were  in  a  tumult ;  all  business  was  suspended, 
which  of  course  only  added  to  the  general  dis- 
content, and  in  a  short  time  poverty  and  distress 
reigned  throughout  that  vast  population. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  King  and  Queen  poured 
out  their  now  limited  means  to  buy  bread  for 
their  famishing  people,  who,  as  they  were  re- 
ceiving it,  cursed  the  hand  that  gave  it. 

But  the  frantic  cry  for  "  bread  !  bread !"  con- 
tinuing, the  city  at  length  broke  into  an  open 
tumult,  and  the  alarm  bells  gave  notice  that  it 
was  in  a  state  of  insurrection.  The  mob  com- 
mitted various  acts  of  horror  in  Paris  and  then 
directed  their  march  to  Versailles,  the  residence 
of  the  royal  family,  shouting  loud  cries  for  ven- 
geance on  the  King  and  Queen  ;  and  as  if  to 
show  how  the  loveliest  objects  may  become  the 
most  loathsome  when  deserted  by  the  purifying 


THE  SABBATH.  73 

power  of  divine  grace,  the  leaders  and  instiga- 
tors of  this  most  horrid  mob  were  females  !— - 
mothers,  sisters,  and  daughters  ! 

In  the  darkness  and  confusion  of  night  they 
entered  the  palace,  and  still  crying  for  vengeance, 
they  sought  the  apartment  of  the  Queen : — she 
had  escaped,  but  they  murdered  some  of  her 
faithful  attendants. 

Driven  from  the  palace  they  encamped  out- 
side its  walls,  and  continued  through  the  next 
day  to  encourage  each  other  by  frantic  cries,  de- 
manding to  see  the  Queen  with  the  most  insult- 
ing epithets.  At  their  call  the  noble  Maria 
Antoinette  appeared  in  the  balcony  leading  by 
the  hand  one  of  her  children.  "  Send  back  the 
child  !"  they  cried,  doubtless  intending  her  mur- 
der when  deprived  of  its  protection.  Turning 
to  the  door  she  thrust  her  child  within,  closed 
it,  and  stood  before  them  with  her  calm,  noble 
countenance,  and  arms  folded  upon  her  bosom, 
contemplating  the  thousands  of  harsh  and  angry 
countenances  which  were  turned  toward  her. 
A  gun  was  presented,  but  some  friendly  hand 
struck  it  down,  and  so  changed  were  the  feel- 
ings of  the  mob  by  her  noble  courage  that  a  cry 
rose  from  them  of  "  Long  live  the  Queen !" 


74  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

Another  shout  then  arose  "  to  Paris  !"  and  to 
Paris  the  obedient  monarch  went,  attended  as 
monarch  never  was  before.  The  coaches  con- 
taining the  wretched  family,  now  the  puppets  of 
a  mob,  were  placed  in  the  centre  of  this  vast 
body  of  drunken  and  infuriated  wretches,  who 
howled  forth  hideous  songs  of  triumph.  The 
foremost  bore  on  their  pikes  the  bleeding  heads 
of  the  faithful  servants  whom  they  had  murder- 
ed in  the  palace,  while  the  rest  of  their  guard 
were  dragged  onward,  fainting  and  weary. — 
Women,  carrying  long  poplar  branches,  rode  on 
the  cannon ;  the  pikes  and  muskets  of  the  mob 
were  dressed  with  oaken  boughs  in  token  of 
triumph,  and  under  these  terrifying  circum- 
stances the  royal  family  entered  the  capital,  and 
after  enduring  the  brutal  mockery  of  congratu- 
lation from  the  authorities  of  the  city  upon  such 
an  escort,  they  were  permitted  to  repose  them- 
selves in  the  palace  of  the  Tuilleries.  The 
troops  as  usual  guarded  the  entrance,  making 
the  unfortunate  monarch  as  much  a  prisoner  as 
if  enclosed  by  less  splendid  walls. 

These  scenes  took  place  in  the  same  autumn 
which  brought  the  Compte  to  our  village.  Father 
Paul  being  then  at  Paris,  witnessed  these  insults 


THE   SABBATH.  75 

offered  to  the  monarch  he  loved  without  daring, 
by  word  or  look,  to  show  the  indignation  and 
horror  they  excited  within  him.  Long  after  their 
occurrence  tears  would  flow  down  his  venera- 
ble cheeks  when  he  described  to  us  the  gentle 
dignity  of  the  King  and  Queen,  and  the  screams 
of  terror  which  burst  from  their  innocent  chil- 
dren, as  they  saw  the  heads  all  ghastly  in 
death,  which  these  brutes  in  human  shape  bore 
past  the  carriage  windows. 

«  And  these,"  he  exclaimed,  "  are  the  fruits 
of  infidelity  ! — they  would  wash  from  the  earth 
all  trace  of  the  Redeemer's  footsteps,  all  remem- 
brance of  his  gracious  words  of  love  and  peace, 
but  by  a  sea  of  blood  poured  out  by  those  who 
proclaim  the  perfection  of  man's  nature,  and 
talk  of  the  reign  of  reason  and  brotherly  love  !" 

Their  King  a  prisoner,  their  troops  corrupted 
and  ready  to  support  their  actions  however 
bold,  and  the  power  to  make  or  annul  laws  com- 
pletely in  the  hands  of  a  people  unused  to  self- 
government,  the  following  acts  of  the  mob  were 
like  the  swellings  and  sinkings  of  succeeding 
waves,  foaming  out  their  own  shame  and  destruc- 
tion.    To  have  been  born  of  a  noble  family, 


76  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

however  distinguished  for  public  and  private 
virtues,  became  a  sufficient  reason  for  undergo- 
ing all  the  lawless  license  of  a  mob. 

Insulted  without  redress,  and  too  often  mur- 
dered for  imaginary  offences,  their  houses  broken 
open  and  pillaged  both  by  the  mob  and  the  con- 
stituted authorities  without  the  slightest  justifi- 
cation, the  nobility  and  gentry  now  fast  quitted 
a  country  which  no  longer  afforded  them  pro- 
tection, and  escaping  in  disguise,  thousands 
voluntarily  sought  poverty  and  exile  in  distant 
lands.  Every  emigration  left  the  poor  King 
more  defenceless  in  the  hands  of  his  enemies, 
from  whom  he  and  his  family  received  daily  in- 
sults, borne  with  the  composure  of  Christian 
forgiveness. 

Even  when  the  few  friends  who  still  rallied 
round  him  would  have  resented  his  indignities, 
he  entreated  them  to  put  up  their  weapons,  that 
the  blood  of  a  subject,  however  guilty,  might  not 
be  shed  on  his  account.  Finding  themselves 
useless  to  him,  and  unable  to  bear  the  indignant 
grief  of  seeing  their  monarch  exposed  to  insults 
which  they  dared  not  punish,  these  at  last,  com- 
plying with  his  repeated  wish  that  they  would 


THE  SABBATH.  77 

care  for  their  own  safety,  tore  themselves  from 
him,  and  awaited  in  other  lands  for  better  times. 
Alas!  to  most  those  better  times  never  ap- 
peared. 


78  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

We  return  to  the  village.  Spring  came  to  us 
at  last,  ever  beautiful  in  her  verdant  loveliness, 
but  to  our  starving  people  never  so  charming  as 
now,  for  she  brought  us  the  promise  of  future 
plenty.  Our  trodden  vineyards  began  to  put 
forth  the  signs  of  blossom  and  leaf,  the  tender 
grain  sprouted  in  our  wheat  fields,  the  sun  shone 
kindly  upon  us,  and  in  spite  of  our  misery  hope 
entered  into  our  desponding  hearts,  making  us 
strong  to  labour. 

Every  hand  was  now  busy  in  mending  the 
broken  enclosures,  draining  fields,  repairing  bro- 
ken ditches  or  training  again  the  trampled  vines, 
all  telling  sad  tales  of  that  night's  work  of  desola- 
tion ;  yet,  though  our  condition  was  in  no  res- 
pect more  secure,  we  could  even  smile  upon 
each  other  again,  for  so  does  labour  lighten  the 
heart  of  its  burden. 

It  was  really  gladdening  to  my  youthful  spi- 


THE    SABBATH.  79 

rit  to  see  the  pinched  countenances  of  the  good- 
natured  dames  once  more  sparkling  with  some- 
thing that  looked  like  their  former  mirth ;  but 
their  laugh  was  neither  so  loud  nor  so  hearty 
as  it  had  been,  for  many  weary  months  must  pass 
over  before  we  could  even  hope  to  secure  our 
golden  harvest,  and  then  it  needed  but  some 
trifling  pretext,  for  our  restless  neighbours  to 
snatch  it  untasted  from  our  lips. 

Still  the  seasons  wore  on  in  something  of 
calmness,  for  although  the  country  at  large  con- 
tinued unquiet,  the  destruction  of  the  Chateau 
and  the  dispersion  of  the  family  happily  left  our 
insignificant  village  in  peace.  The  habits  of 
the  people  too  kept  them  really  ignorant  of  much 
that  could  only  have  disturbed  their  minds. 
The  distraction  of  the  times  having  broken  up 
the  iace  manufactures,  we  were  obliged  to  live 
solely  on  the  products  of  our  little  farms,  and 
experience  had  taught  us  that  the  abundance 
which  we  had  formerly  disposed  of  in  the 
neighbouring  towns  must  this  year  be  stored  up 
for  our  own  use  ;  consequently,  unless  disturbed 
by  the  visits  of  other  rustics  we  had  little  inter- 


80  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

course  with  the  rest  of  the  world,  the  humility 
of  our  village  proving  its  best  protection. 

Not  but  what  the  wise  gentlemen  at  the  Ca- 
pital would  fain  have  enlightened  us  also,  but 
there  being  none  in  the  village  who  could  read, 
beside  our  family  and  the  Cure,  the  newspapers 
and  proclamations  which  they  sent  us  so  indus- 
triously were  harmless,  only  serving  the  village 
girls  for  papillottes. 

The  grass  had  quite  covered  the  spot  where 
poor  old  Jaques  was  buried,  and  had  even  sprouted 
in  some  of  the  ruined  clefts  of  the  Chateau  walls, 
for  the  end  of  summer  wras  fast  approaching, 
when  my  father  warned  us  to  prepare  for  an- 
other inmate. 

"  You  will  know  her,"  he  said,  "  as  Jean- 
nette  Le  Blanc.  She  comes  to  us  from  a  dis- 
tant village,  and  asks  a  home  until  better  times 
restore  her  to  her  friends.  I  need  not  bid  my 
family  respect  her  sorrow,  nor  avoid  distressing 
her  by  needless  questions  or  allusions  to  the 
past,  since  the  politeness  of  benevolence  is  the 
Christian's  duty.  As  it  will  suit  her  purposes 
best  to  share  in  the  labours  of  the  farm,  you, 
Jacquiline,   will  give  her  what   instruction   is 


THE    SABBATH.  81 

necessary,  and  my  daughter  will  share  her  bed 
with  the  stranger." 

Our  father's  wishes  were  ever  the  law  of  his 
little  household,  and  his  manner  in  giving  this 
warning  seemed  to  forbid  further  inquiry.  In- 
deed, since  the  commencement  of  our  troubles 
he  had  constantly  warned  us  against  the  indul- 
gence of  curiosity. 

"  Be  content,  my  children,"  he  would  say, 
"  to  be  ignorant.  With  your  principles,  false- 
hood, I  should  hope,  was  impossible  ;  how  easy 
and  safe  will  it  be  then  if  interrogated  on  dan- 
gerous matters,  to  reply,  I  do  not  know  !" 

Accordingly,  though  all  felt  there  was  some- 
thing mysterious  about  this  stranger,  not  a  word 
from  us  intimated  it. 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  succeeding  day 
she  arrived,  riding  on  a  mule  and  accompanied 
by  a  peasant  similarly  mounted  ;  a  tall  dignified 
looking  woman,  even  in  her  peasant's  garb. 
Her  dress  was  that  of  the  better  class  of  our 
females  yet  coarse  enough  in  its  texture ;  her 
head  dress  was  worn  rather  lower  than  usual, 
beneath  which,  and  crossing  plainly  over  her 
noble  forehead,  appeared  hair  of  raven  black- 
8* 


82  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

ness.  Her  eyes  large  and  dark  to  me  wore  an 
expression  different  from  those  of  any  other 
woman  I  had  ever  before  seen.  When  those 
eyes  were  upon  me  I  never  could  address  her 
by  the  familiar  name  of  Jeannette.  Her  com- 
plexion, though  dark,  had  not  the  weather 
stained  appearance  of  most  peasants,  and  when 
she  spoke — ah  !  in  vain  were  all  disguises  !-- 
those  gently  modulated  tones  were  never  formed 
among  the  villagers  of  France  ! 

Such  were  my  thoughts  as  I  led  our  guest  up 
the  narrow  staircase  to  my  little  bed  room. 

Jeannette,  as  my  father  insisted  upon  our 
calling  her,  though  she  did  not  always  seem  to 
recognize  it  as  her  name,  soon  became  quite  at 
home  among  us.  She  knew  little  of  cottage 
work,  but  considering  the  smallness  and  deli- 
cacy of  her  hands  which  she  took  great  pains  to 
expose  and  coarsen,  she  succeeded  pretty  well. 
She  was  silent  and  sad,  frequently  gazing  from 
our  little  window  at  the  Chateau,  her  eyes 
streaming  with  tears.  I  tried  to  take  no  notice 
of  these  expressions  of  grief,  but  with  the  true 
vivacity  of  a  French  girl  I  longed  to  throw  my- 
self at  her  feet,  assuring  her  that  although  the 


THE    SABBATH.  83 

whole  world  might  join  in  persecution,  there 
was  still  one  family  that  loved  and  revered  the 
unfortunate  Comptesse  of  Anjou  ! 

Are  you  surprised,  my  children  ?  Alas  !  the 
history  of  those  times  abounds  with  too  many 
changes  of  this  kind  ;  in  which  the  proud  and  the 
lofty  were  obliged  to  assume  the  garb  and 
servile  labours  of  the  lowliest,  glad  to  preserve 
their  lives  even  on  those  hard  terms. 

Whether  my  brothers  and  Jacquiline  had 
come  to  the  same  conclusion  about  our  inmate, 
I  know  not ;  our  father's  wishes  and  native 
delicacy  forbidding  any  discussion  of  the  sub- 
ject, or  appearance  of  a  desire  to  know  more  of 
our  guest  than  what  she  chose  to  reveal.  It 
seemed  to  be  understood  among  the  villagers 
also  that  we  wished  no  questions  asked,  and 
though  probably  the  conjectures  of  all  centred 
upon  the  same  person,  the  utmost  silence  was 
preserved  on  this  dangerous  subject. 

Father  Paul  came  to  see  us  as  usual  and  often 
had  long  conversations  with  Jeaimette,  during 
which,  in  the  pauses  of  the  hum  of  our  spinning 
wheels,  though  to  do  Jacquiline  justice  those 
pauses  were  neither  long  nor  frequent,  we  could 


84  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

sometimes  hear  the  sobs  of  the  poor  lady,  but 
we  usually  saw  her  no  more  for  the  rest  of  that 
day. 

Our  visitor  never  attended  the  chapel,  nor  I 
believe  did  she  receive  Father  Paul  as  her  con- 
fessor, and  at  first  she  spent  the  time  given  to 
religious  worship  both  on  the  week  day  and 
Sabbath,  in  her  little  bedroom.  I  generally 
found  her  seated  on  the  little  box  which  con- 
tained her  clothes,  her  hands  clasped  in  mute 
despair,  gazing  on  the  scorched  walls  of  the  tur- 
ret. Now,  within  the  recess  of  this  little  vine- 
covered  window  lay  my  Bible,  that  rare  book 
in  France,  to  prince,  priest,  and  peasant,  with 
some  others  of  instruction  and  devotion,  both 
Catholic  and  Protestant,  and  I  longed  to  point 
to  the  comforts  within  their  pages  for  a  sorrow- 
ful heart. 

Henri  gave  up  his  studies  that  summer,  for 
my  father  could  no  longer  afford  to  employ  men 
on  our  little  farm  ;  so  he  and  Claude  labored 
diligently  to  secure  plentiful  crops,  assisting  our 
less  provident  neighbours  ;  for  my  father  prophe- 
sied new  disturbances  when  the  pinchings  of 
winter  should  heighten  the  discontent  of  the 
poor  and  the  idle. 


THE    SABBATH.  85 

Our  days  were  outwardly  tranquil;  for  while 
our  brothers  toiled  in  the  field,  Jacquiline  and 
myself  spun,  wove,  or  prepared  our  meals,  and 
kept  the  cottage  neat,  while  Jeannette  assisted 
a  little  in  all  that  she  might  gain  some  house- 
hold knowledge  ;  but  was  most  successful  in 
knitting  gloves  and  mittens  which  we  hoped  to 
dispose  of  in  spite  of  the  troubles,  and  thus  have 
a  little  store,  as  Jacquiline  said,  for  a  rainy  day. 
My  father  seldom  went  from  home  without 
leaving  one  of  my  brothers  with  us,  for  we  were 
constantly  liable  to  the  visits  of  strange  men 
who  would  enter  the  cottage  and  seat  themselves 
without  ceremony,  asking  the  most  impertinent 
questions. 

How  often  in  those  days  of  fear  have  I  gone 
about  singing  when  my  heart  was  sinking  with 
terror ;  or  addressed  a  familiar  remark  to  our 
guest,  that  the  intruders  might  feel  no  suspicion 
of  her  rank  ;  and  fortunately  the  years  she  had 
passed  in  seclusion  had  so  tended  to  obliterate 
all  but  her  name  from  the  remembrance  of  our 
people  that  none  could  have  recognised  her,  par- 
ticularly through  her  disguise. 

And  thus  in  anxiety  and  fear  wore  on  another 
sad  autumn  and  winter. 


86  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Our  guest  had  been  with  us  about  two  months, 
and  the  awe  I  could  not  help  feeling  at  first  had 
in  some  degree  worn  off  in  the  familiarity  I  was 
forced  to  adopt  toward  her  ;  the  village  had  been 
undisturbed  by  visiters  for  more  than  two  weeks, 
and  we  were  breathing  freely  again,  when  the 
Comptesse  said  to  me  one  afternoon — 

"  Come,  good  Manon,  walk  with  me  a  little 
way,  for  I  am  weary  of  this  confinement.  Let 
ns  seek  for  some  violets  in  the.  valley,  and  you 
can  show  me  the  hut  where  poor  Jaques  died." 

With  my  father's  consent,  we  proceeded  along 
the  winding  path  to  the  valley.  It  was  a  mild 
afternoon  in  October ;  the  woods  were  as  still 
as  the  Sabbath,  for  our  children  had  quite  de- 
serted them  since  the  death  of  Jaques,  and  the 
filberts  ripened  and  fell  undisturbed  by  the  busy 
fingers  which  used  to  search  their  fruitful  boughs. 
Nothing  disturbed  our  lonely  thoughts  but  the 
starting  of  some  timid  hare  or  squirrel,  and  in 


THE    SABBATH.  87 

silence  we  reached  the  old  hut.  The  lady  gazed 
round  it  for  a  few  moments,  then  deeply  sigh- 
ing, plunged  farther  into  the  wood  toward  the 
mausoleum  which  had  been  the  hiding-place  of 
her  husband. 

I  did  not  accompany  her  farther  than  the 
broken  entrance,  but  I  could  hear  her  sobs,  and 
my  own  tears  flowed  in  sympathy.  I  was  be- 
ginning to  feel  impatient  lest  we  should  be  un- 
pleasantly interrupted,  when  the  sound  of  ap- 
proaching footsteps  startled  me,  and  I  gave  the 
appointed  signal  with  a  trembling  heart;— -a 
minute  after,  the  feeble  cough  of  Father  Paul 
announced  a  friend. 

"  Daughter,"  said  he,  in  a  reproving  tone,  as 
the  lady  advanced  hastily  to  meet  him,  "  why 
these  ever-falling  tears  ?  Shall  you  receive  good 
at  the  hand  of  your  God,  and  shall  you  not  re- 
ceive evil  also  ?" 

"  Father,"  she  replied,  "  I  know  nothing  of 
the  existence  of  the  Being  in  whose  name  you 
reprove  me — nothing  of  the  state  to  which  you 
point  me,  when  I  shall  slumber  with  the  inha- 
bitants of  yonder  tomb.  To  me  this  world  is 
but  a  twisted  maze  of  good  and  evil.  My  lot 
has  been  woven  only  of  the  dark  threads,  when 


88  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

they  break  I  hope  for  nothing,  know  of  nothing ! 
Can  you  wonder,  then,  that  my  tears  flow  ?" 

"  Can  I  wonder,  say,  that  your  mind  remains 
in  this  gloomy  darkness,  when  you  refuse  to  ask 
the  interposition  of  the  holy  saints  in  your  be- 
half !  Have  you  not  even  refused  to  repeat  an 
Ave  Maria  I — and  if  you  will  not  seek  the  aid 
of  the  holy  Virgin,  once  a  woman  like  yourself, 
and  therefore  able  to  feel  a  woman's  sorrows, 
how  can  you  hope  for  light  on  your  darkened 
mind?" 

"  When  a  living  friend  cannot  aid  me,  though 
faithful  and  affectionate  as  yourself,  good  father," 
she  replied,  meekly,  "  I  cannot  address  suppli- 
cations to  a  mortal  long  since  mouldered  to 
ashes  !  Father,  it  is  too  late  now  for  such  coun- 
sels ;  you  must  lead  me  to  a  higher  source  if 
you  would  give  me  comfort." 

"Manon,"  said  the  Cure,  quickly,  "your 
father  wishes  for  you — proceed  without  us." 

I  hastened  my  steps,  and  was  soon  at  the  cot- 
tage. For  the  first  time  the  lady  remained  be- 
low that  evening  at  family  worship.  After  we 
had  sung  our  simple  hymn,  my  father  read  those 
words  of  our"  Saviour  which  fall  so  sweetly  on 
a  mourner's   ear,   beginning,    "  Let  not  your 


THE    SABBATH.  89 

hearts  be  troubled ;  ye  believe  in  God,  believe 
also  in  me  !" 

Remembering  the  afternoon's  conversation,  I 
ventured  to  steal  a  glance  from  time  to  time  to- 
ward our  visiter.  At  first  she  sat  gazing  vacantly 
on  the  floor,  her  arms  folded,  and  her  head 
drooping  almost  upon  her  bosom  ;  but  as  my 
father  proceeded  with  his  clear,  fervent  tones, 
she  gradually  raised  her  head,  and  fixed  her  elo- 
quent eyes  upon  him.  Not  a  word  seemed  lost 
by  her,  and  when  he  closed  with  "  let  us  pray," 
she  rose — hesitated — and  in  another  moment 
the  descendant  of  kings  was  kneeling  amidst  her 
humble  vassals,  pleading  for  mercy  from  the 
Kino-  of  king's. 

As  the  Cure  afterwards  informed  us,  it  was 
the  first  time  in  many  years  she  had  knelt  in 
prayer,  and  that  night  witnessed  the  commence- 
ment of  a  peace  such  as  had  never  before  filled 
her  bosom,  even  that  of  a  penitent  child  no 
longer  in  rebellion  against  its  Father. 

I  have  said  that  my  little  Bible  lay  in  the  win- 
dow of  our  room.  The  next  day  she  handed  it 
me  with  the  request  that  I  would  find  the  pas- 
sage my  father  had  read  the  preceding  evening 
9 


90  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

— "  for  I  am  ashamed  to  tell  you,  Manon,"  she 
said,  "  this  is  the  first  Bible  I  have  ever  seen." 

After  this  I  fancied  I  could  discern  a  change 
in  her  very  look.  She  wept  at  times,  but  not  so 
passionately.  Her  eyes  lost  that  depth  of  gloomy 
sorrow  which  made  them  so  remarkable,  and 
gradually  a  sweet  pensiveness  came  over  her 
manner,  like  that  of  my  father  or  the  Cure.  Of 
all  our  family,  Henri  most  enjoyed  the  society 
of  the  lady,  for  there  was  a  greater  delicacy  of 
thought  and  expression  about  him  than  the 
others.  In  the  winter  nights  he  delighted  to 
read  aloud  to  her  of  the  faith  and  patience  of  the 
martyrs,  or  the  beautiful  songs  of  David,  until 
his  own  gentle  face  caught  their  expression  of . 
triumphant  hope.  No  longer  did  our  guest  shun 
the  hour  of  family  devotion,  or  the  instruction 
of  the  Sabbath.  "  Father,"  she  said  one  even- 
ing to  the  Cure,  "  I  have  found  that  higher 
source  of  consolation  here,"  laying  her  hand  on 
the  Bible. 

"  My  child,"  he  replied,  "  the  Spirit  is  the 
Lord's,  and  all  the  rills  of  comfort  are  his  also. 
A  wandering  sheep  has  returned  to  the  fold  of 
the  good  Shepherd,  and  I  am  happy." 


THE    SABBATH.  91 

But  great  changes  were  working  at  the  Capi- 
tal which  our  guest  sighed  or  sometimes  smiled 
over.  The  estates  of  the  banished  or  exiled 
nobility  were  sold  for  the  benefit  of  the  public 
funds.  The  possessions  of  the  Compte  of  An- 
jou  had  been  thus  unjustly  taken,  and  nothing 
now  remained  of  his  once  princely  fortune  but 
the  ruins  of  the  old  Chateau.  The  poor  lady 
used  to  say,  "Teach  me  to  spin,  good  Jacqui- 
line,  that  I  may  know  how  to  earn  my  bread. 
Alas !  if  I  be  driven  from  my  present  shelter, 
what  shall  I  do  ?" 

The  public  debt  being  still  heavy  it  was  next 
proposed  to  seize  the  property  of  the  Church  ; 
thus  stripping  not  only  the  toiling  Cure  of  his 
daily  bread,  but  breaking  up  the  religious  asy- 
lums of  the  country  and  taking  from  them  what 
the  spoilers  had  never  given.  This  was  opening 
new  scenes  of  distress  over  the  land,  offering 
new  temptations  for  outrage,  and  well  did  the 
idle  and  bad  reap  their  harvest  from  it,  though 
the  blood  of  thousands  was  poured  out  in  the 
vain  attempt  to  defend  their  possessions.  Our 
good  old  Cure  had  nothing  which  could  tempt 
the  avarice  of  the  informer,  for  his  own  hands 
cultivated  the  little  spot  of  ground  which  sup- 


92  THE    LAND   WITHOUT 

plied  his  daily  wants,  and  in  accordance  with  a 
sincere  vow  of  poverty  which  he  had  made  in 
early  life,  a  little  pallet  bed  stretched  on  the  floor, 
a  crucifix,  and  a  few  necessaries  formed  the  fur- 
niture of  his  cottage.  Yet  this  unjust  law 
brought  a  grief  to  his  bosom  which  it  could  never 
have  felt  for  selfish  sorrows. 

I  have  told  you  that  on  the  night  of  the  fire  at 
the  Chateau  my  father  conveyed  the  Comptesse 
to  the  house  of  an  aunt,  where  she  obtained  a 
temporary  shelter.  The  same  spirit  which  had 
filled  our  village  with  terror  soon  roused  the 
peasantry  here  also,  and  again  at  midnight  the 
unfortunate  lady  was  forced  to  escape.  Her 
venerable  relative  was  able  to  reach  the  sea  shore 
in  safety  and  from  thence  passed  over  to  Eng- 
land, but  the  uncertain  fate  of  her  husband  and 
child  detained  the  Comptesse  near  them.  In 
various  disguises  and  hiding  places  she  had  wan- 
dered until  the  hope  of  greater  security  had 
brought  her  to  our  cottage. 

More  happy  than  her  mother,  Mademoiselle 
had  until  the  present  enjoyed  the  security  of  a 
convent.  But  the  new  law,  by  directing  the  fury 
of  the  mob  against  the  religious  asylums,  made 
their  retreat  no  longer  secure,  and   before  my 


THE    SABBATH.  93 

father  and  the  Cure  had  decided  how  she  might 
be  secreted,  news  arrived  that  the  whole  com- 
munity in  which  she  resided  were  seeking  safety 
by  flight. 

The  first  information  we  had  of  new  trouble 
hanging  over  us  was  from  observing  the  secret 
consultations  of  the  Cure,  my  father,  and  the 
lady.  The  former  soon  left  us  for  a  few  days 
and  returned  ; shortly  after  Jacquiline  an- 
nounced that  Francois  the  miller  had  got  a  new 
maiden. 


94  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  miller  was  a  good  old  soul,  and  so  deaf 
he  could  scarcely  hear  the  clacking  of  his  own 
mill ;  but  not  so  the  miller's  wife.  She  was 
kind  hearted  and  discreet,  but  had  such  a  reputa- 
tion for  scolding  that  none  who  knew  her  ven- 
tured to  undergo  her  displeasure.  In  many 
respects  the  mill  was  a  safe  retreat  for  poor 
Mademoiselle,  since  it  was  some  distance  from 
the  village,  and  secluded  from  the  visits  of  all 
but  our  own  people,  who  might  be  relied  on 
with  safety.  Beside,  the  deafness  of  Francois, 
and  the  well  known  temper  of  his  wife,  made 
questioning  them  a  difficult  matter. 

The  poor  lady  slept  little  that  night ;  I  knew 
it  by  her  startling  sighs.  Before  we  had  risen 
next  morning,  she  said  significantly,  "  Manon, 
you  are  affectionate  as  well  as  prudent.  Is  there 
no  errand  to  the  mill  to-day  ?  Have  you  no 
curiosity  to  see  the  miller's  new  maiden  ?     She 


THE    SABBATH.  95 

should  be  about  your  height  now," — she  said, 
her  eyes  filling  with  tears.  "  My  good  Manon, 
will  you  not  endeavour  to  see  her  ;  observe  her 
appearance  and  dress  exactly ;  and  tell  me 
whether  she  looks  the  peasant  as  she  should 
do  ?" 

With  ray  father's  permission  I  took  old  Cadet 
by  the  halter,  and  following  the  course  of  the 
stream,  after  an  hour  and  a  half's  walk  I  came 
to  the  mill.  Only  Francois  was  there,  and 
whilst  he  was  lading  Cadet  with  the  grist  I  took 
the  privilege  of  an  old  favourite  and  entered  the 
house. 

A  young  girl,  taller  and  more  slender  than 
myself,  was  feeding  poultry  near  the  door.  As 
soon  as  I  appeared  the  miller's  wife's  sharp 
tongue  was  to  be  heard  reproving  her  most 
roundly.  I  observed  that  the  maiden's  dress 
was  similar  to  my  own,  except  that  the  material 
was  coarser  and  more  worn,  the  better  I  presume 
to  keep  up  the  disguise  ;  she  had  on  the  coarse 
stockings  and  wooden  shoes  worn  by  the  hum- 
blest class  of  peasants,  and  like  her  mother's,  her 
fair  skin  was  dyed  a  tawny  brown  by  the  juice 
of  the  walnut. 

She  turned  hastily,  but  I  had  time  to  drop  a . 


98  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

note  from  her  mother  at  her  feet,  as  I  passed 
into  the  house,  whilst  Dame  Dubois,  in  her 
shrillest  tone,  reproved  the  awkwardness  of 
Amee,  as  she  called  her. 

My  object  thus  gained,  I  proceeded  home  as 
rapidly  as  poor  old  Cadet's  stumbling  feet  would 
permit,  where  the  Comptesse  impatiently  await- 
ed me. 

"  You  have  seen  her,  my  good  girl,  I  know 
you  have — your  eyes  say  so  !  Oh,  tell  me,  is 
she  well — is  she  contented  ?"  she  would  have 
said,  but  tears  choked  her. 

I  described  her  daughter's  appearance  as  well 
as  I  was  able,  and  promised  not  only  to  carry  on 
an  intercourse  between  the  unfortunate  mother 
and  child,  but  if  possible  to  manage  an  interview 
for  them.  A  thousand  times  did  she  thank  me, 
saying,  "  when  your  father  is  no  more,  Manon, 
if  the  providence  of  God  allows  it,  we  will 
retire  to  some  quiet  corner  of  France,  and  there 
in  safe  and  contented  poverty  I  will  be  a  mother 
to  Manon  and  Amee." 

"  Suffer  me  rather,  dear  lady,"  I  said,  kissing 
her  hand  respectfully,  "to  be  your  faithful 
attendant ;  to  toil  for  you  ;  nay,  even  as  Jaques 
did,  to  die  for  you  !" 


THE    SABBATH.  97 

Our  intercourse  with  the  mill  was  now  as 
frequent  as  circumstances  would  allow,  though 
Amee  and  myself  did  no  more  than  exchange 
glances  and  drop  notes  in  passing.  I  observed 
with  sorrow  that  to  prevent  suspicion  she  was 
often  obliged  to  perform  services  which  even  I 
should  have  thought  hard,  and  her  poor  hands 
were  frequently  bleeding  from  the  frost.  Still 
she  kept  up  a  cheerful  temper,  said  little,  and 
never  replied  to  Dame  Dubois'  reproofs,  who  it 
was  very  evident  spoke  more  from  habit  and  the 
desire  to  deceive  me,  than  anger. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  National  Assembly  had 
enacted  a  new  law  against  the  church,  which 
produced  even  more  disastrous  consequences 
than  that  by  which  they  had  robbed  it  of  its  pro- 
perty. Grown  bold  by  meeting  no  opposition, 
they  now  demanded  of  every  priest  to  take  what 
was  called  the  oath  of  the  Constitution,  which 
they  could  not  do  without  violating  another  made 
to  the  Pope  at  their  consecration  as  Catholic 
Priests.  I  have  told  you,  that  of  the  multitudes 
of  Clergy  in  France,  few  comparatively  had  been 
faithful  in  instructing  their  flocks,  and  in  the  late 
disturbance  many  had  justified  the  murderer  and 
pillager.     Yet,    forgetful  as  they  had  been,  of 


98  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

their  sacred  duties,  and  irreligious  as  had  been 
the  lives  of  too  many,  few  were  sufficiently  un- 
principled to  take  an  oath  against  the  government 
of  the  church  they  had  sworn  to  defend.  These, 
therefore,  were  pronounced  by  the  Assembly 
incapable  of  performing  any  of  the  offices  of 
religion  ;  their  churches  were  closed,  and  them- 
selves doomed  to  poverty  and  persecution;  in 
the  public  estimation  they  were  held  as  enemies 
to  the  welfare  of  their  country,  and  when  the 
lawlessness  of  the  mob  had  risen  to  its  height, 
these  unfortunate  men  were  slaughtered  in 
hundreds. 

So  few  of  the  priests  accepted  the  Constitution- 
al oath,  and  consequently  were  able  to  perform 
divine  service,  that  the  churches  throughout  the 
land  were  generally  closed ;  the  dead  were  com- 
mitted to  the  earth  without  a  prayer  that  it 
might  be  blessed  to  the  living ;  infants  were 
unbaptized,  and  the  voice  of  religious  warning 
was  silenced. 

The  wishes  of  the  infidels  were  now  realized  : 
did  the  land  become  better  or  happier  ?  We 
shall  see. 

Father  Paul,  with  his  brethren  of  the  same 
department,    was  summoned   to  take  the  oath. 


THE    SABBATH.  99 

My  father  attended  him  and  described  the  scene 
to  us.     The   Hall,  decorated   with    tri-coloured 
flags,  was  crowded  with  spectators,  all  wearing 
the  National  cockade  and   shouting    "  Vive  la 
Constitution!'1''     The    Cure    was    then  nearly 
eighty  years  of  age,  yet  his  form  was  unbent  by 
weakness;    his    snowy   hair   floated    over    his 
shoulders,  and  his  face   beamed  with  majestic 
goodness.     His  fame  as  a  faithful  parish  priest 
was    far  extended,   and  many  of  his   brethren, 
undetermined  in  opinion,  waited  for  the  example 
of  the  Cure  of  St.  Marie  la  Bonne.  The  jostling 
crowd  drew  back  as  he  passed,  and  with  erect 
form  and  uncovered  head  he  stood   before  the 
tribunal.     The  question  was  proposed  to  him  : 

"  I  have  served  my  God,"  he  said,  "  these 
fifty  years,  and  now  you  ask  me  to  dishonour 
Him  !  For  fifty  years  have  I  taught  my  little 
flock  to  reverence  the  meanest  engagement,  and 
now  you  ask  me  to  violate  one  made  under  the 
most  awful  circumstances — my  priestly  vows  ! 
Will  I  take  an  oath  I  dare  not  keep !— tell  your 
worthless  employers— never  /" 

Deep  emotion  held  the  Assembly  motionless 
for  a  few  minutes,  and  unmolested  the  old  man 
passed  down  the  Hall.     It  was   a  bold  speech, 


100  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

and  few  besides  the  Cure  could  have  uttered  it 
and  preserved  their  personal  safety  ;  yet  in  spite 
of  the  scoffs  of  infidels  true  piety  will  be  reve- 
renced even  by  the  impious  and  profane. 

But  he  was  a  silenced  minister,  and  the  woe 
worn  looks  of  his  flock  were  truly  mournful. 
No  more  the  chapel  bell  summoned  the  village 
to  its  Altar.  No  more,  in  the  solemnities  of 
the  confessional,  could  he  reprove  the  erring, 
strengthen  the  wavering,  or  comfort  the  mourner. 
Many  of  his  conscientious  brethren  went  into 
exile,  but  our  affectionate  friend  would  not  desert 
his  flock. 

"  I  may  not  pray  with  them,"  he  said,  "  but 
the  laws  of  tyrants  cannot  prevent  my  praying 
for  them." 

But  not  long  did  he  linger  among  us.  The 
crimes  and  the- woes  of  his  country  had  been 
long  preying  on  his  strength  and  spirits,  but  the 
necessity  for  action  had  prevented  him  from 
yielding  to  its  effects :  now,  exiled  from  the 
Altar  he  loved — denied  the  privilege  of  minister- 
ing to  the  spiritual  wants  of  his  people — what 
more  was  there  for  him  to  do  ?  He  drooped 
from  day  to  day,  and  before  a  third  unhallowed 
Sabbath  had  passed  over  the  village,  its  pastor 


THE    SABBATH.  101 

was  no  more  !     He  was  found  kneeling  before 
the  crucifix  as  if  in  prayer  ! 

We  had  no  physician  to  give  a  learned  name 
to  his  disease,  but  according  to  the  simple  ideas 
of  the  villagers  he  had  died  of  a  broken  heart ! 


10 


102  THE  LAND  WITHOUT 


CHAPTER  XI. 

I  am  afraid  my  merry  hearted  boys  will  call 
their  grandmother's  tale  a  sad  one.  Alas  !  it  is 
too  true  that  the  terrors  of  a  civil  contest  extin- 
guished for  many  a  year  all  the  light-hearted 
happiness  of  my  people,  and  changed  them  from 
a  gay  and  thoughtless  race  to  a  most  sanguinary 
mob.  Few,  but  melancholy  scenes  marked  the 
years  of  my  girlhood  ;  for  how  could  I  smile 
when  the  victims  of  outlaw  were  weeping 
around  me  ?  How  could  my  sleep  be  tranquil 
when  the  sky  over  my  head  was  often  reddening 
with  the  blaze  of  some  poor  peasant's  cottage, 
and  I  knew  not  but  in  a  few  hours  my  own 
home  might  be  in  ashes  1  Such  is  the  situation 
of  those  who  hold  their  life  or  property  at  the 
will  of  a  mob.  But  I  must  hasten  forward  in 
my  narrative. 

Oar  village  was  now  fast  losing  its  quiet  cha- 
racter as  the  lawless  mass,  becoming  more  and 
more  restless  and  wild  with  excited  wishes,  and 


THE  SABBATH.  103 

strengthened  by  new  accessions  from  various 
parts  of  France,  moved  toward  Paris,  the  heart 
of  this  vast  body,  from  whence  and  toward 
which  proceeded  the  great  and  small  streams 
of  rebellion  and  infidelity,  which  poisoned  the 
land.  Humble  as  we  were  we  could  not  help 
receiving  a  portion  of  the  moving  mass,  and  as 
resistance  would  have  been  vain  we  were  forced 
to  adopt  a  civil  demeanour  even  towards  those 
whose  hands  we  knew  were  reeking  with  the 
blood  of  our  countrymen. 

You  will  easily  understand  that  these  circum- 
stances made  the  situation  of  the  Comptesse  and 
the  maiden  at  the  mill  very  unsafe,  and  the  rather 
since  death  had  deprived  them  of  their  best  ad- 
visor. The  sacred  office  of  the  Cure  had  ena- 
bled him  to  go  about  on  secret  service  for  them 
unmolested;  but  my  father,  who  had  long  con- 
fined himself  to  the  business  of  his  farm,  could 
not  so  easily  become  a  traveller  without  exciting 
suspicion.  Yet  our  affairs  were  daily  becoming 
more  critical.  Claude  and  Henri  were  abun- 
dantly willing  to  undertake  any  services,  but  the 
first  was  too  fiery  and  imprudent,  and  the  latter 
too   inexperienced.     It  seemed  very  necessary 


104  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

that  both  mother  and  daughter  should  seek  a 
new  asylum  but  where  should  they  find  it. 

While  we  were  still  in  this  anxious  situation, 
a  band  of  these  wanderers  one  day  entered  the 
village  and  proceeded  directly  to  the  ruins  of  the 
Chateau.  They  were  evidently  in  pursuit  of 
some  one,  and  we  trembled  for  our  guest.  Con- 
cealment was  vain,  as  the  houses  of  the  villagers 
would  all  be  searched  if  any  suspicion  were  ex- 
cited, but  Claude  was  despatched  by  the  nearest 
route  to  the  mill.  We  could  hear  their  shouts 
and  halloos  to  each  other,  and  our  hearts  died 
within  us  at  the  frantic  sound,  but  my  father 
called  us  together  and  begged  the  protection  of 
the  Almighty  in  this  our  hour  of  peril. 

The  evening  was  closing  in  when  the  stran- 
gers, desisting  from  their  search,  dispersed  them- 
selves over  the  village  to  seek  food  and  shelter. 
Three  of  them,  with  a  man  who  appeared  to  be 
their  leader,  entered  our  cottage,  and  abruptly 
addressed  my  father. 

"  Well,  friend,  you  seem  quite  at  your  ease 
here  while  honest  men  are  doing  your  work  in 
ridding  the  world  of  these  vile  Aristocrats.  At 
least  I  hope  you  will  give  us  a  supper  and  night's 
lodging  for  our  trouble." 


THE    SABBATH.  105 

"  The  best  our  house  affords  is  at  your  ser- 
vice ;"  said  my  father  mildly,  "  be  seated. 
Jeannette  will  you  prepare  our  supper  ?" 

With  admirable  composure  our  guest  proceed- 
ed to  arrange  the  table,  whilst  the  man  went  on. 

"A  pretty  good  job  you  made  of  that  old 
building,  neighbour — why  there  is  not  a  shed 
left  to  shelter  a  dog!  Did  you  help  at  that 
night's  work  ?" 

" 1  was  absent  from  home  at  that  time/'  said 
my  father. 

"  Oh,  ho  !  kept  out  of  the  way  did  you  !" 

My*  father  only  called  to  me  to  put  on  plenty 
of  viands. 

"  Well,  friend,  do  you  say  Vive  le  Roy,  or 
Vive  la  Constitution." 

"  I  thought  the  cry  was,  i  long  live  the  King 
and  the  Constitution,'  since  his  Majesty  has 
accepted  it.  But  I  am  a  quiet  man  and  know 
little  of  these  matters.  My  friends,  supper  is 
ready." 

The  strangers  had  fine  appetites,  and  little  was 
said  until  supper  was  despatched.  Jacquiline 
and  myself  had  waited  on  them,  but  it  was  ne- 
cessary that  the  Comptesse  should  remain  in  the 
room  that  there  might  appear  no  cause  for  con- 
10* 


106  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

straint  or  fear.  Alas  !  how  often  did  we  forget 
our  own  terrors  in  remembering  the  helpless 
situation  of  poor  Mademoiselle. 

At  the  close  of  supper  the  leader  of  the  band 
drew  from  his  greasy  pocket  a  tumbled  Journal, 
and  commenced  reading  it  aloud  to  my  father, 
calling  for  more  wine  and  becoming  evidently 
intoxicated.  In  the  course  of  his  reading  we 
found  it  rumoured  that  the  Compte  d'Anjou  had 
succeeded  in  escaping  to  the  frontier,  where  he 
had  joined  the  army  of  the  nobility  which  was 
forming  there,  but  it  was  supposed  that  his  wife 
and  daughter  were  secreted  near  Paris,  and  this 
supposition  had  brought  these  fierce  wretches  on 
their  bloody  errand. 

"  Come,  friend,"  exclaimed  the  leader  when 
he  had  finished  his  paragraph,  "  what  think  you 
of  joining  us  in  our  search  for  the  family  of  this 
traitor  ?  I  know  one  in  Paris  who  will  pay  you 
handsomely  for  your  work." 

"  During  the  many  years  which  the  Comp- 
tesse  resided  at  the  Chateau  I  never  saw  her," 
replied  my  father,  "  and  I  should  think  it  impos- 
sible for  any  one  in  the  village  to  know  her  per- 
son with  certainty." 

"But  how  is  this,  Sir,  I  am  afraid   you  are 


THE    SA.BBATH.  107 

not  a  hearty  friend  to  the  good  cause  ! — Do  you 
not  hate  this  wife  of  Anjou?" 

"  The  Comptesse  gave  us  little  cause  to  love 
or  hate  her  whilst  she  was  among  us," — I  heard 
a  deep  sigh  steal  from  the  bosom  of  the  lady 
who  was  wiping  some  drinking  cups  beside  me, 
— "  and  this  book,"  he  continued,  laying  his 
hand  on  the  Bible,  "  teaches  me  to  hate  no 
one." 

"  That  book  !  what  is  it! — something  that  the 
National  Assembly  knows  nothing  of  then  !" 

My  father  pointed  silently  to  the  title. 

"  The  Bible  !  phew  !"  with  a  long  whistle— 
"then  you're  a  Protestant  I  suppose."  At  this 
moment  another  band  of  fierce  looking  men 
entered,  informing  their  leader  that  the  villagers 
seemed  a  dull  spiritless  set  who  either  knew  or 
would  tell  nothing ;  they  had  heard  there  was 
a  strange  girl  at  the  mill,  and  were  proceeding 
thither,  but  wanted  a  guide.  A  faint  cry  of  hor- 
ror proceeded  from  the  lady,  but  the  agitation  of 
the  moment  having  caused  her  to  cut  a  deep 
wound  in  her  hand  with  a  knife  she  was  wiping, 
all  passed  off  well ; — particularly  as  Claude 
volunteered  to  conduct  them  to  the  mill. 

It   was   nearly  midnight  before  the  party  re- 


108  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

turned,  and  then  they  were  so  brutalized  by  in- 
toxication that  little  could  be  got  from  them, 
except  that  "  the  miller  and  the  miller's  wife 
were  the  best  people  in  France,  and  the  girl  no 
more  d'Anjou's  daughter  than  she  was  theirs  ; 
she  had  drank  their  health  in  a  glass  of  wine." 

It  seemed  that  Dame  Dubois  had  laid  her 
plans  well.  Loud  and  long  they  were  obliged 
to  storm  at  the  mill,  for  the  family  were  appa- 
rently in  the  deepest  slumber.  Finally  the  old 
woman's  shrill  tones  were  heard  at  the  window 
demanding  their  business,  and  scolding  so  briskly 
at  being  disturbed  that  no  one  could  be  heard  but 
herself.  Then  deaf  Francois  unbarred  the  door, 
and  so  happily  did  the  old  man's  infirmity  aid 
the  good  cause,  that  all  roaring  and  threats  were 
misunderstood  until  his  helpmate  came  to  his 
assistance,  and  then  followed  such  another  tor- 
rent of  scolding  that  stout  hearted  as  they  were, 
they  were  fain  to  sooth  her  into  silence  by  flat- 
tery. 

Restored  to  her  good  humour,  the  Dame  now 
insisted  upon  offering  them  refreshments,  shriek- 
ing often  to  her  sleeping  housemaid  to  come 
to  her  assistance.  Amee  who  had  been  privately 
instructed,   was  long  in  dressing,   and  by  the 


THE    SABBATH.  109 

time  she  appeared  so  much  wine  had  been  con- 
sumed that  their  senses  were  easily  deceived  ;  so 
after  suffering  a  friendly  box  on  the  ear  from  the 
Dame  for  her  delay,  and  drinking  a  glass  of 
wine  with  the  strangers,  she  was  allowed  to 
creep  back  to  her  little  bed. 

Several  of  these  men  passed  the  night  in  our 
cottage,  but  Claude  stretched  himself  before  our 
bed-room  door,  and  their  loud  snoring  soon  gave 
us  additional  assurance  of  safety. 

To  our  great  relief,  they  dispersed  the  next 
morning,  and  the  destruction  that  so  soon  after 
fell  upon  us,  was  mercifully  delayed. 


110  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 


CHAPTER  XII. 

So  soon  as  tranquillity  was  restored  to  the 
village  by  the  departure  of  the  banditti,  I  took 
Cadet  by  the  halter  and  repaired  to  the  mill  with 
some  wheat  for  grinding.  I  was  afraid  to  carry 
a  note  lest  I  should  meet  some  wanderer  from 
the  party  which  had  just  quitted  us,  and  as  there 
were  generally  some  of  the  villagers  at  the  mill, 
I  could  not  hope  to  speak  to  Amee  without 
observation;  but  the  affection  of  a  mother 
devised  a  plan  for  conveying  comfort  to  the 
bosom  of  her  affrighted  child.  She  gathered  a 
bunch  of  joinquils,*  the  emblem  of  hope  with 
our  village  girls,  and  placed  them  in  my  bosom 
for  Amee. 

As  I  had  supposed,  there  was  no  opportunity 
for  anything  more  than  an  intelligent  glance 
between  us  as  I  dropped  the  flowers  at  her  feet. 
She  gathered  them  hastily  and  left  the  room. 
On  seeking  old   Cadet  to  depart  I  found   him 

*  Memoirs  of  Mad,  De  Laroche  Jacquelin, 


THE    SABBATH.  Ill 

dressed  with  a  garland  of  strawberry  blossoms 
and  crocuses,  which  her  weeping  mother  was 
able  to  translate  into  the  language  of  comfort. 

It  was  very  evident  from  recent  events,  that 
our  village  had  excited  suspicion,  and  therefore 
our  poor  lady  and  her  daughter  must  seek 
another  asylum,  but  yet  not  together.  Whither 
should  they  direct  their  wandering  steps  ? 
Their  relations  and  friends  were  either  concealed 
like  themselves  in  obscurity,  or  exiles  from 
their  country.  And  since  servant  and  vassal 
were  daily  betraying  their  masters  to  prison 
whom  could  they  trust  ?  Yet  an  asylum  must 
be  found.  The  unfortunate  mother  and  daugh- 
ter ventured  one  parting  interview  in  the  acacia 
thicket  near  the  mill,  and  the  next  morning 
Claude  and  Jeannette  had  disappeared,  only  my 
father  knew  whither. 

I  shall  not  pretend  to  describe  the  listless  sus- 
pense in  which  the  days  rolled  over  after  their 
departure,  nor  how  anxiously  we  watched  my 
father's  countenance  for  news  of  the  fugitives. 
But  that  venerable  countenance  ever  expressed 
the  tranquil  confidence  of  a  christian.  "Why 
should  we  be  anxious  for  this  life  ?"  he  would 
say.     "  Is  our  peace  made  with  God  ;— can  we 


112  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

claim  his  mercy  as  redeemed  children  ! — then 
welcome  the  stroke  of  death,  since  it  releases  us 
at  once  from  the  woes  of  sin,  and  gives  us  an 
inheritance  with  the  saints  in  light." 

It  was  on  the  fifth  day  after  the  departure  of 
the  fugitives  that  our  village  was  again  disturbed 
by  the  shoutings  of  a  band  of  outlaws  conducted 
by  the  man  who  had  led  the  previous  party. 
Passing  rapidly  through  the  hamlet,  with  terrific 
shouts  they  surrounded  our  house  and  grounds  ; 
some  seized  and  bound  the  inmates,  while 
others  dispersed  themselves  over  the  apartment 
in  search  of  the  Comptesse. 

1  dare  not,  even  at  this  remote  time,  my  chil- 
dren, describe  to  you  with  minuteness  the  scene 
that  followed.  From  their  angry  menaces  and 
reproaches  we  learned  that  the  peasant,  who 
many  months  before  had  conducted  the  Comp- 
tesse to  our  dwelling,  either  in  fear  or  treachery, 
had  betrayed  us. 

My  father  neither  confessed  nor  denied  any- 
thing they  charged  him  with ;  nor  would  he  ac- 
count for  the  absence  of  Jeannette  farther  than  by 
saying  she  had  returned  to  her  friends.  Henri's 
answers,  from  his  romantic  character  and  high 
veneration  for  his  lady,  were  full  of  lofty  indig- 


THE    SABBATH.  113 

nation ;  and  true  to  the  enthusiasm  with  which 
he  had  always  regarded  the  fate  of  his  favour- 
ites, the  early  martyrs,  he  seemed  almost  to 
court  ihe  death  they  threatened. 

Their  fates  were  soon  decided.  I  heard  the 
musket  shots  which  told  that  I  was  an  orphan, 
and  sunk  insensible. 

When  I  was  permitted  to  return  to  my  recol- 
lection I  found  myself,  with  Jacquiline,  in  a 
ruined  outhouse  on  the  skirts  of  the  village.  A 
dull  red  flame  was  bursting  from  the  roof  of  our 
cottage,  and  the  terrific  yells  of  the  murderers 
filled  the  air.  1  fixed  my  eyes  in  wild  eager- 
ness on  Jacquiline,  hoping  that  one  word  from 
her  would  tell  me  I  was  not  so  utterly  wretched  ; 
— but  her  tears  were  my  only  answer. 

How  long  it  was  before  I  could  weep  !  How 
my  brain  burned  with  agony,  and  when  tears 
did  fall,  how  blessed  was  the  relief!  Then  fol- 
lowed thoughts  of  comfort.  My  father  was 
taken  from  me,  but  he  had  left  me  an  inheritance 
richer  than  the  estates  of  Anjou  !— I  knew  that 
death  was  not  an  "  eternal  sleep,"  as  my  coun- 
trymen, whose  crimes  had  made  them  wish  it 
so,  afterward  proclaimed  it ;  I  knew  he  was  but 
as  one  who  had  arrived  at  a  pleasant  home, 
11 


114  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

where  I  should  one  day  join  him; — and  for 
Henri, — dear,  dear  Henri !  was  it  not  written 
"thy  brother  shall  rise  again!"  It  was  true, 
and  the  blessed  thought  filled  me  with  triumph. 
The  precepts  of  philosophy  may  reconcile  man 
to  death,  but  the  Christian  religion  can  alone 
make  it  joyous. 

The  poor  villagers  suffered  deeply  for  the  pas- 
sive part  they  had  taken  in  the  concealment  of  their 
lady,  as  the  dry  roofs  of  many  of  their  cottages 
took  fire  from  the  flying  brands,  and  the  nearest 
were  reduced  to  ashes.  It  wanted  little  but  this 
to  bring  them  to  despair,  and  amidst  the  stun- 
ning effects  of  my  own  deep  grief,  I  still  vividly 
remember  their  mournful  cries,  as  they  pointed 
to  the  smouldering  ruins  of  their  once  happy 
homes. 

Jacquiline's  character  made  her  admirably 
calculated  to  be  my  friend  at  this  moment  of 
desolation.  Unlike  most  Frenchwomen,  her 
sensibilities  were  not  quick,  but  she  had  an 
abundance  of  quiet  good  sense  which  knew 
exactly  how  to  act  with  prudence  at  the  right 
moment.  She  was  a  most  notable  housekeeper, 
and  a  firm  believer  in  the  excellence  of  her 
master's  judgment.     Happily  these  two  points 


THE    SABBATH.  115 

of  character  tended  to  her  preservation  at  that 
terrible  moment.  Devoted  to  the  neatness  of 
her  house,  and  the  care  of  her  master's  property 
it  was  a  matter  of  indifference  to  her  whether 
the  people  cried,  "  Vive  le  Roy"  or  "  Vive 
la  Republique,"  for  indeed  she  scarcely  knew 
the  difference.  My  father's  will  had  been  her 
law,  and  her  total  ignorance  of  his  plans  had 
saved  her  from  sharing  his  fate. 

Incapable,  from  grief  and  inexperience  of 
forming  any  plans  for  myself,  I  turned  to  Jac- 
quiline  as  to  a  mother,  and  in  two  days  from 
that  terrible  one  Amee  and  myself,  by  her  good 
management,  were  riding  on  either  side  of  her 
to  Paris  ! 

It  was  a  bold  thought  to  carry  the  daughter 
of  the  exiled  Compte  into  the  midst  of  his 
enemies  ;  but  Jacquiline  rightly  judged  that 
amidst  the  millions  of  people  inhabiting  that  vast 
city,  three  poor  strangers  might  more  readily 
dwell  unmolested  than  in  a  small  village.  Be- 
side, she  had  a  brother  residing  in  one  of  the 
obscure  streets  of  Paris,  a  man  of  quiet  disposi- 
tion like  herself,  who  had  managed  thus  far  to 
live  in  tranquillity  when  all  around  was  excite- 


116  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

ment ;— with  him  she  proposed  that  we  should 
take  refuge. 

"  But  Amee  !"  I  exclaimed  when  she  un- 
folded her  plans  to  me. 

"  Be  quiet,  poor  child  !"  she  said — "  it  is  all 
settled — she  accomnanies  us." 


THE    SABBATH,  117 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  journey  to  Paris  would,  under  any  other 
circumstances,  have  been  full  of  interest  to  two 
young  girls  secluded  as  Amee  and  myself  had 
been,  but  recent  suffering  had  so  benumbed 
the  powers  of  my  mind  that  I  rode  on  almost 
indifferent  to  passing  events,  and  I  believe  my 
companion  felt  little  less  than  myself.  I  now 
remember  what  I  scarcely  observed  then,  that 
the  road  presented  all  the  appearances  of  a  dis- 
ordered country.  Occasionally  we  met  with 
the  ruins  of  burned  Chateaux  or  villages ;  the 
lands  lay  uncultivated  ;  dams  breaking  through 
their  barriers  from  neglect  had  turned  fine 
meadows  into  stagnant  ponds.  In  some  places 
the  harvest  fields  of  the  preceding  year  had  been 
burned,  and  the  scorched  stubble  could  be  seen 
among  the  tender  green  of  the  young  grain. 
Every  where  families  were  conveying  their 
goods  in  the  little  donkey  carts  of  the  country, 
11* 


118  THE  LAND  WITHOUT 

or  on  mules,  and  men  were  standing  in  groups 
talking  with  fierce  gesticulations. 

We  travelled  in  a  little  cart  of  our  own  which 
had  escaped  the  destruction,  and  Jacquiline  was 
our  only  earthly  guide  and  protector.  Through 
her  prudence  we  were  mercifully  preserved  from 
insult  or  injury,  and  on  the  morning  of  the 
second  day  we  reached  the  barriers  of  Paris. 

Jacquiline  having  observed  some  of  the  horses' 
heads  decked  with  the  tri-coloured  cockade, 
worn  by  those  who  favoured  the  revolution,  had 
taken  the  precaution  to  purchase  one  for  old 
Cadet,  pinning  gaudy  breast  knots  of  the  same 
upon  Amee  and  myself,  while  a  cockade  even 
larger  than  Cadet's  ornamented  her  own  head 
dress,  and  this  trifle  gave  us  safety.  We  rattled 
over  the  broad  paving  stones,  and  through  rows 
of  palaces  as  they  seemed  to  me,  while  the 
crowds  of  human  beings  pressing  along  on  either 
side  of  us,  the  jostling  with  carts  and  carriages 
of  every  description,  was  terrifying  to  us  poor 
homeless  orphans,  and  forgetting  that  the  circum- 
stances of  our  different  families  had  ever  forbid- 
den such  intimacy,  we  clung  together  in  helpless 
affright. 


THE -SABBATH.  119 

The  street  in  which  stood  our  new  home  was 
very  narrow,  with  tall  houses  lining  it,  inhabited 
chiefly  by  persons  occupying  apartments,  but 
all  communicating  by  one  general  entrance. 
At  the  door  of  a  little  glover's  shop  our  vehicle 
stopped.  We  were  left  a  long  time  sitting  in 
the  wagon,  nor  do  I  yet  know  what  arguments 
Jacquiline  made  use  of  to  induce  her  brother 
to  receive  us,  but  at  length  we  were  intro- 
duced into  a  comfortless  back  room,  and  from 
thence  up  several  nights  of  stairs  to  a  little  attic, 
which,  unfurnished  as  it  was,  became  cheerful 
in  our  eyes  from  contrast  with  the  apartment 
which  first  received  us,  for  the  bright  sun  could 
here  throw  his  beams,  unchecked  by  neighbour- 
ing walls. 

Jacquiline  was  not  a  woman  of  many  words, 
but  when  we  were  fairly  established  in  our 
little  room,  the  good  creature  gave  way  to  a  flow 
of  conversation  such  as  I  had  never  heard  from 
her  before.  A  thousand  times  we  embraced  her  ; 
we  clung  to  her  in  the  helplessness  of  our  orphan 
state,  and  with  streaming  eyes  begged  bless- 
ings upon  her.  Amee's  sweet  face  brightened 
with  cheerful  hope,  and  she  entered  readily  into 


120  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

all  Jacquiline's  plans.  Saving  in  her  habits,  and 
simple  in  her  wants,  the  good  woman  had  long 
ago  sewed  fifty  louts  d'or,  the  price  of  many 
years'  labour,  in  the  hem  of  her  striped  petticoat, 
and  this  she  showed  us  as  the  promise  of  future 
support.  She  would  furnish  our  little  room,  in 
which  was  a  sleeping  closet  for  herself;  and 
her  brother  would  give  us  employment  at  sew- 
ing gloves.  He  had  no  family,  kept  no  com- 
pany, thought  very  little  of  any  thing  but  get- 
ting rich,  and  she  had  no  doubt  we  should  be 
perfectly  safe.  Necessary  comforts  were  pro- 
cured for  us  in  the  course  of  the  day,  and  that 
night  Amee  and  myself  sobbed  ourselves  to  sleep 
in  each  other's  arms. 

Nothing  scarcely  could  have  been  more  dull 
than  the  whole  course  of  our  residence  in  Paris, 
more  entirely  wanting  in  all  those  gay  excite- 
ments, those  affectionate  endearments,  which 
childhood  and  youth  languish  for.  From  the 
earliest  sunlight  which  streamed  through  our 
uncurtained  windows,  until  a  late  hour  at  night, 
we  toiled  with  trembling  fingers  for  our  avarici- 
ous landlord,  who  seemed  to  exact  more  labour 
in  proportion  to  the  danger  of  secreting  us.   The 


TUB    SABBATH,  121 

very  small  pittance  he  allowed  just  sufficed  to 
furnish  us  with  the  coarsest  food,  and  humblest 
clothing  ;  but  in  our  quiet  attic  we  could  hear 
far  off  the  trampings  of  the  furious  mob,  the 
rolling  of  cannon,  and  the  shouts  of  lawless 
victory,  undisturbed  by  the  fears  of  personal 
safety  ;  and  the  trials  through  which  both  had 
passed  had  long  since  quenched  every  girlish 
desire  for  change  or  amusement. 

But  with  what  sweet  patience  did  the  lovely 
Amee  endure  all  this,  and  when  at  length  I 
learned  to  weep  less  violently  over  the  recollec- 
tion of  my  murdered  father  and  brother,  how 
did  her  gentle  consolations  soothe  my  griefs,  and 
her  courageous  example  fortify  my  young  spirit. 
Our  common  misfortunes  caused  us  to  forget  all 
the  distinctions  of  rank,  while  we  clung  to  Jac- 
quiline  as  to  a  parent,  and  trusted  implicitly  to 
her  discretion. 

We  never  dared  allude  to  our  dear  village  or 
the  events  of  our  childhood  in  speech,  lest  our 
conversation  should  be  overheard  by  our  neigh- 
bours in  the  next  attic  ;  but  we  often  relieved  the 
bursting  fulness  of  our  hearts  by  signs  and  writ- 
ing, particularly  on  Sunday,  when  released  from 


122  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

labour,  Amee  loved  to  read  the  counsels  and  in- 
structions which  my  beloved  father  had  so  di- 
ligently impressed  upon  my  mind,  now  occur- 
ing  to  me  as  sacred  commands,  sealed  by  his 
blood  ;  and  not  unfrequently  the  good  Cure's 
name  would  appear,  as  we  mutually  imparted 
the  instructions  of  these  sainted  ones. 

We  had  been  in  Paris  six  weary  weeks,  and 
had  yet  received  no  intelligence  of  the  Comp- 
tesse  or  Claude,  when  old  M.  Dubois  in  a  sud- 
den fit  of  gratitude  for  some  particularly  neat 
work  executed  by  Amee's  slender  fingers,  pro- 
posed to  his  sister  that  we  should  visit  the 
Champ  de  Mars,  where  a  public  celebration 
was  to  be  held.  A  body  of  laws,  supposed  to 
be  suitable  to  the  present  condition  of  France, 
had  been  formed  by  the  Assembly,  and  accepted 
by  the  King  a  year  previous  to  this.  To  give 
this  acceptance  greater  importance  it  was  pro- 
posed that  it  should  be  performed  amidst  the 
representatives  of  France,  with  suitable  solemni- 
ties ;  and  the  nation  was  now  about  to  celebrate 
the  Anniversary  of  this  important  event. 

Timid  as  we  were,  and  indisposed  from  re- 
cent grief  for  sights  of  mere  amusement,  Jac- 


THE    SABBATH.  123 

quiline  yet  did  not  think  it  prudent  for  us  both 
to  decline  her  brother's  rare  civilities,  and  I,  as 
least  in  danger  of  discovery,  proceeded  with  M. 
Dubois  and  her  to  the  Champ  de  Mars. 

The  bands  of  representatives,  amounting  to 
several  thousands,  with  appropriate  banners, 
moved  through  the  various  streets,  and  at  length 
reached  the  square  where  an  immense  crowd  of 
persons  were  assembled.  A  fantastic  Altar  had 
been  erected  in  the  centre  ;  around  this  were 
pitched  pikes,  surmounted  by  floating  banners, 
loaded  with  emblems  of  feelings  which,  existed 
nowhere  but  in  the  excited  imaginations  of  their 
enthusiastic  contrivers.  The  brilliant  dresses 
of  the  troops,  the  glistening  of  sabres,  the  rich 
strains  of  music  poured  at  once  from  more  than 
a  thousand  instruments,  made  it  a  scene  of  rare 
gaiety  and  splendour,  particularly  when  a  July 
sun  suddenly  poured  its  streaming  rays  upon  us, 
and  yet  the  poor  King  was  sad  and  dispirited. 
He  mounted  the  Altar  while  a  few  voices  shouted 
vive  le  Roi,  alas  !  his  people  saw  him  no  more 
until  he  appeared  on  the  scaffold  which  French- 
men had  raised  for  him  ! 

It  was  at  the  moment  when  the  firing  of  can- 


124  THE  LAND  WITHOUT 

non  announced  the  closing  of  the  spectacle,  and 
when  all  was  frantic  joy,  men  congratulating 
and  embracing  each  other,  women  shouting  forth 
their  pleasure  with  tears  and  laughter,  that  I  felt 
a  hand  placed  upon  my  shoulder.  I  looked  up, 
and  with  an  unheeded  scream  of  joyful  surprise 
beheld  my  brother  Claude.  Protection,  safety, 
and  happiness  for  an  instant  seemed  to  be  mine  ; 
but  alas  !  these  were  not  the  times  for  indulging 
the  gentler  emotions  of  the  heart ;  a  hasty  em- 
brace, a  whispered  farewell,  and  Claude  was 
gone,  unperceived  even  by  Jacquiline  ;  but  he 
left  a  paper  in  my  grasp  which  I  easily  concealed 
in  my  jacket  until  safe  with  my  friends  in  our 
garret,  I  ventured  to  draw  it  forth. 

It  was  written  in  the  most  guarded  manner, 
yet  we  gathered  from  it  that  Jeannette  had  been 
conveyed  to  a  place  of  present  safety  with  a  re- 
lative of  the  Cure's  in  a  distant  town.  Poor 
Claude  did  not  reach  his  desolate  home  until 
long  after  our  departure  ;  for  he  had  taken  a 
circuitous  route  lest  Jeannette  might  be  traced 
through  him  ;  and  a  torn  journal  which  he  picked 
up  in  the  road  informed  him  of  the  fate  of  his 
father  and  brother, 


THE    SABBATH.  125 

"  Three  nights,"  said  he,  "I  spent  npon  the 
beloved  graves  ;  but  in  the  darkness  and  danger 
my  father's  God  watched  over  me,  and  filled  my 
heart  with  sweeter  thoughts  than  those  of  re- 
venge." 

Some  faithful  person,  the  deaf  miller  we 
supposed,  informed  him  of  our  flight,  and  as  it 
had  ever  been  my  father's  advice  that  Jacqui- 
line  should  seek  her  brother's  protection  in  an 
event  like  that  which  had  occurred,  he  suspected 
our  retreat  and  hastened  to  Paris.  Here  he  had 
hovered  about  us,  yet  afraid  to  approach  lest  he 
should  bring  upon  us  the  ruin  which  threatened 
himself,  until  the  celebration  of  the  Champ  de 
Mars  gave  the  coveted  opportunity.  He  would 
fain  linger  near  to  us  or  Jeannette,  he  said, 
but  dared  not.  An  army  was  marching  to 
the  frontiers  of  France,  composed  of  the  exiled 
nobles,  and  foreign  powers  who  wished  to  res- 
cue the  King  from  his  dangerous  situation; 
this,  on  the  morrow,  he  would  set  out  to  join, 
hoping  in  a  few  months  to  bring  us  freedom 
from  the  reign  of  irreligion  and  anarchy. 

I  confess  that  Claude's  resolution  did  not 
inspire  me  with  the  same  pleasure  it  gave  to 
12 


126  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

Amee.  Perhaps  the  difference  was  caused  by 
our  education.  Amee  was  the  descendant  of 
princes  and  heroes  ;  she  loved  to  think  over  the 
warlike  deeds  of  her  ancestry ;  but  mine,  who 
were  bloodless  martyrs,  knew  far  better  how  to 
endure  than  conquer. 

And  now  all  hope  of  change,  or  restoration  to 
the  pure  air  and  simple  pleasures  of  village  life, 
jwere  over,  and  we  contemplated  the  imprison- 
ing roofs  and  tall  chimnies  of  Paris  with  dismay. 
But  it  was  not  to  occupy  you  with  the  uninte- 
resting memoirs  of  two  lonely  girls  that  I  sat 
down  to  write  this  narrative,  but  to  warn  my 
grandchildren,  while  I  have  still  the  power,  of 
allowing  vice  or  irreligion  to  overspread  the 
land;  and  I  hasten  now  to  more  public  events. 


THE    SABBATH.  127 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

It  was  true,  as  Claude  had  stated,  that  a  vic- 
torious army,  composed  of  exiles  and  foreigners, 
were  marching  towards  Paris  ;  and  the  friends 
of  true  liberty  in  France,  with  the  long  oppress- 
ed peasant,  if  conquered,  had  equal  reason  to 
dread  the  re-establishment  of  those  unjust  laws 
which  had  crushed  them  so  long.  It  was  true 
also,  that  their  timid  King  in  secret  feared  to 
grant  them  that  reasonable  share  of  liberty,  to 
which  every  man  who  breathes  the  common  air 
has  a  right  from  his  Creator  ;  and  therefore  his 
subjects  too  hastily  condemned  him  as  their 
enemy ;  as  one  who,  whatever  his  words  might 
be,  could  not  help  wishing  the  success  of  that 
army  which  threatened  their  liberties.  When, 
therefore,  the  Duke  of  Brunswick,  commander 
of  that  army,  most  unwisely  threatened  to  burn 
the  towns  and  villages,  to  put  the  inhabitants  to 
the  sword  where  the  slightest  resistance  should 
be  made,  and  to  Paris  itself  almost  total  exter- 


128  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

urination  should  the  King  suffer  any  wrong,  the 
whole  populace  rose  in  frantic  rage  to  pour  ou 
the  meek  head  of  Louis  the  full  measure  of  their 
wrath. 

A  slight  insurrection  had  taken  place  previous 
to  our  arrival  in  Paris,  in  which  the  King  had 
calmly  submitted  to  the  bitterest  indignities  from 
the  lower  orders  of  the  people,  which  are  more 
degraded  and  turbulent  there  than  in  almost  any 
other  European  city.  Unopposed  by  the  guards 
who  affected  to  defend  the  palace,  they  had  burst 
open  the  gates  with  sledge-hammers,  and  made 
their  way  unchecked  through  halls,  once  sacred 
to  their  former  oppressors,  the  long  line  of  the 
Bourbons,  into  the  presence  of  the  King,  with 
horrid  shouts  and  yells  of  triumph,  with  glisten- 
ing pikes  and  frightful  emblems  of  violence  and 
death.  The  gentle-hearted  Prince  opened  the 
door  of  his  apartment  to  them  with  his  own 
hands,  and  had  nearly  been  pierced  through  by 
a  bayonet  in  doing  so.  The  Queen,  the  princi- 
pal object  of  their  hatred,  was  eagerly  sought 
for,  and  several  pikes  were  thrust  at  the  King's 
sister  in  mistake,  when  some  one  cried  out  that 
it  was  Madam  Elizabeth;  "Why,"  exclaimed 


THE  SABBATH.  129 

the  excellent  woman,  "  did  you  undeceive  them  ! 
it  might  have  saved  my  sister's  life." 

It  would  seem,  as  is  too  often  the  case  in 
times  of  lawless  disorder,  that  hone  knew  ex- 
actly why  they  had  come  together,  except  to 
insult  those  who  were  too  weak  to  resist.  One 
threw  an  old  red  cap  at  the  king ;  it  was  a  fa- 
vourite badge  with  the  lower  orders  5  he  quietly 
drew  it  on.  Another  thrust  a  bottle  of  wine 
into  his  hand,  commanding  him  to  drink  to  the 
nation.  All  the  whims  of  the  mob  having  been 
complied  with  by  the  royal  family,  it  thought 
fit  to  withdraw.  Alas  !  it  is  to  be  feared  this 
was  only  a  trial  of  their  strength,  and  its  suc- 
cess did  but  encourage  them  to  worse  measures. 

The  ill-judged  threats  of  the  Duke  of  Bruns- 
wick, only  serving  to  excite  the  anger  of  the  dis- 
affected all  over  France,  thousands  crowded  to 
Paris  under  the  name  of  federates,  the  most 
distinguished  of  which  were  those  from  the  city 
of  Marseilles.  For  some  time  we  observed  the 
city  to  become  more  and  more  disturbed.  Bands 
of  armed  men  singing  the  most  exciting  words, 
which  they  dignified  by  the  name  of  a  hymn 
in  praise  of  liberty,  paraded  the  streets  day  and 
night,  insulting  the  Swiss  guards,  corrupting  the 
12* 


130  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

fidelity  of  the  national  troops,  and  committing 
outrages  upon  all  who  ventured  to  be  moderate. 
Their  loud  shouts  rose  even  to  the  walls  of  our 
little  attic,  and  I  often  shuddered  as  I  fancied 
them  the  voices  of  my  father's  murderers. 

At  length,  on  the  morning  of  the  10th  of  Au- 
gust, we  were  awakened  from  our  slumbers  by 
the  melancholy  tolling  of  bells  from  the  steeples. 
M.  Dubois  soon  after  rushed  into  our  little  apart- 
ment, declaring  that  none  who  wished  for  safety 
must  cross  the  threshold,  for  the  city  was  in  a 
state  of  insurrection.  Throughout  that  terrible 
day  we  heard  the  tramping  of  hasty  feet,  the 
noise  of  cannon,  the  shouts  of  the  mob,  but  so 
distant,  for  happily  we  were  in  a  very  obscure 
part  of  that  vast  city,  that  it  seemed  only  like 
the  far-off  roarings  of  the  ocean.  M.  Dubois' 
charge  was  an  unnecessary  one  to  us,  We 
clung  weeping  to  our  faithful  old  friend,  or  knelt 
in  prayer  to  the  God  of  the  orphan,  through  the 
whole  of  the  tedious  hours,  but  to  us  they  wore 
over  in  safety. 

Our  landlord  carefully  bolted  and  barred  his 
shop,  retired  to  the  little  den  behind;  and  when 
his  panic  had  subsided,  employed  himself  in 
cutting  out  gloves   as  composedly  as  if  there 


THE    SABBATH.  131 

were  no  higher  interests  on  earth  than  increas- 
ing his  petty  gains, — no  noble  lives  in  peril. 

The  whole  force  of  the  mob  was  directed 
against  the  palace  of  the  Tuilleries,  where  the 
royal  family  resided.  The  Swiss  guards  has- 
tened to  its  defence,  and  a  few  hundreds  of  the 
nobility  and  gentlemen  rallied  around  the  King 
at  this  terrible  moment ;  but,  alas  !  they  were 
only  the  aged  too  feeble  for  flight,  or  the  youth 
too  helpless  for  defence.  The  insurgents  press- 
ed forward ;  the  troops  about  the  castle  awaited 
them  firmly,  but  the  good-hearted  King  could 
not  bear  that  the  blood  of  Frenchmen  should  flow 
on  his  account ;  so  after  hours  of  indetermina- 
tion  and  useless  council,  he  hastened  to  throw 
himself  and  his  terrified  family  upon  the  protec- 
tion of  the  National  Assembly,  a  body  composed 
of  his  enemies  too  wicked  to  protect  him,  or 
friends  too  feeble  to  protect  themselves. 

On  foot,  unguarded,  pressed  upon  every  side 
by  the  most  degraded  beings,  the  royal  family 
took  their  way  to  the  hall  of  the  National  As- 
sembly, exposed  to  the  taunts  and  abuse  of  the 
worthless ;  the  little  children  weeping  and  ter- 
rified, sometimes  dragging  their  wearied  feet 
after  their  parents,   sometimes   quite  separated 


132  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

from  them  by  the  vile  mob  ;  pikes  and  bayonets 
were  thrust  at  the  meek  sufferers,  but  they  were 
calmly  put  aside,  and  thus  they  entered  the  hall. 

The  unhappy  family  had  a  little  closet  or  en- 
closure, a  few  feet  square,  coldly  granted  to  them 
by  their  protectors,  and  here  they  remained  hun- 
gry, thirsty,  and  weary  for  fourteen  hours.  The 
young  Dauphin,  overcome  with  fatigue,  dropped 
asleep  in  his  mother's  arms;  but  his  noble  sister, 
just  old  enough  to  comprehend  something  of  the 
sorrows  and  indignities  of  her  parents,  sat  be- 
side her  mother  bathed  in  tears. 

Shortly  after  the  departure  of  the  King,  the 
mob  succeeded  in  entering  the  palace,  and  a  ter- 
rible scene  of  slaughter  and  outrage  followed. 
The  ladies  who  waited  upon  the  Queen  were 
spared  at  the  moment  the  sword  was  glittering 
over  their  heads.  All  of  the  King's  friends  who 
did  not  succeed  in  hiding  themselves,  were  mur- 
dered. The  private  apartments  were  pillaged, 
the  magnificent  furniture  was  dashed  to  pieces, 
and  at  last  fire  was  applied  to  whatever  could  be 
consumed,  whilst  the  hideous  monsters  who 
had  produced  this  horrible  scene  danced  round 
it  in  fiendish  intoxication. 

The  royal  family  was  sought  for  all  over  the 


THE    SABBATH.  133 

streets  of  Paris,  and  the  houses  of  their  friends  were 
entered  and  searched  without  the  smallest  cere- 
mony, death  being  the  certain  fate  of  those  who 
made  the  least  resistance.  The  few  Swiss  who 
escaped  by  deeds  of  valour,  were  carried  to 
prison  to  expire  there  by  even  more  terrible 
treachery. 

This  is  a  horrible  chapter,  and  it  is  painful  to 
turn  the  eye  of  youth  toward  such  enormities  ; 
but  the  heart  of  man  is  ever  the  same,  and  simi- 
lar scenes  may  be  acted  wherever  long  oppres- 
sion is  succeeded  by  irreligion  and  lawless 
liberty. 


134  THE  LAND  WITHOUT 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Whilst  these  and  worse  scenes  of  horror 
were  taking  place,  Araee  and  myself  were  quiet- 
ly pursuing  our  employment  in  the  garret  of  M. 
Dubois.  We  should  probably  have  been  igno- 
rant of  much  that  was  passing  in  the  mighty  city, 
for  Jacquiline  was  always  silent  on  what  she 
heard  or  saw  abroad,  and  we  never  ventured 
into  the  street,  but  that  the  adjoining  attic  was 
taken  about  this  time  by  a  shoemaker  and  his 
wife,  who  were  violent  revolutionists.  The 
man  attended  a  nightly  club  where  discontent 
and  ignorance  constantly  poured  forth  their  re- 
bellious complaints  ;  from  whence  he  generally 
returned  angry  and  noisy,  to  repeat  to  his  wife 
the  ferocious  threats  of  his  companions  and 
leaders.  We  were  generally  startled  by  his  loud 
voice  from  our  peaceful  slumbers  earned  by  hard 
toil,  describing  minutely  the  horrors  of  each  day, 
or  pouring  out  threats  on  Monsieur  and  Madam 
Veto,  as  they  bitterly  nicknamed  the  I£ing  and 


THE  SABBATH.  135 

Queen.  We  would  then  pray  fervently  to  our 
Heavenly  Parent  for  protection, and  clasping  each 
other  tightly,  in  our  consciousness  of  utter  weak- 
ness, would  silently  weep  ourselves  into  a  sleep, 
broken  perhaps  by  visions  of  violence  and  blood. 

We  had  now  been  some  months  in  our  con- 
cealment. Occasionally  I  had  ventured  abroad 
with  Jacquiline  to  the  baker's  for  a  roll,  or  to  de- 
liver a  pacqnet  of  gloves  for  M.  Dubois,  when 
my  confinement  would  become  intolerable  ;  but 
poor  Amee  feared  to  show  herself  in  the  crowd. 
At  length  the  effects  of  constant  toil  and  want 
of  exercise  began  to  change  her  appearance. 
She  grew  thin  and  emaciated,  her  step  was 
languid,  and  her  eye  lost  its  brightness. 

"  O  my  dear  Manon,"  she  would  say,  "if  I 
could  have  but  one  ramble  in  the  free  green 
woods  ;  one  dance  upon  the  open  sward  with  the 
sweet  cool  air  blowing  around  me  ; — but  these 
roofs  and  chimneys,  these  high  walls, — they 
choke  me, — I  cannot  breathe  here." 

Our  food  too  was  scanty  and  coarse ;  for  the 
immense  number  of  strangers  crowded  into 
Paris  at  this  time,  the  neglected  state  of  agri- 
culture since  the  farmers  had  turned  politicians, 
joined  to  the  artificial  scarcity  caused  by  the  ter- 


136  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

rors  of  our  expected  siege,  raised  the  price  of 
bread  until  it  was  almost  impossible  to  purchase 
it.  The  little  roll,  coarse,  black,  and  except  to 
a  keen  appetite,  utterly  untempting,  which  Jac- 
quiline  laid  upon  our  table  every  morning,  grew 
perceptibly  smaller,  and  we  were  fain  to  satisfy 
our  hunger  at  dinner  time  with  a  little  salad  or  a 
few  chesnuts,  with  occasionally  the  rarity  of  an 
omelette  ;  supper  was  a  thing  not  to  thought  of. 
Frantic  cries  of  "  bread,"  "bread,"  often  rose 
from  the  street  beneath,  for  it  was  quite  a  usual 
thing  for  the  mob  during  this  reign  of  reason  to 
surround  the  bakeries  at  any  particular  time  of 
scarcity,  and  on  the  report  or  supposition  that 
their  piasters  had  accumulated  a  quantity  of  flour 
for  private  speculation,  madly  scatter  the  whole 
store  into  the  Seine,  while  the  unfortunate  vic- 
tims themselves  not  unfrequently  suffered  a  vio- 
lent death. 

It  was  so  evident  that  Amee  was  sinking 
under  this  mode  of  life,  that  Jacquiline  deter- 
mined at  all  risks  she  should  leave  her  garret  for 
a  short  time  every  day.  Born  a  peasant,  I  had 
n&  hew  character  to  support.  The  wooden 
■:sh9es  and  clumsy  trudge  of  that  class  of  people 
were  natural  to  me,  and  I   had  all  the  twanging 


THE    SABBATH.  137 

patois  of  a  country  village  in  my  speech.  But 
to  poor  Amee  all  this  must  be  assumed ;  and 
though  she  was  unwearied  in  practising  all  the 
defeats  of  speech  or  gait  which  were  necessary 
to  complete  her  disguise,  her  native  elegance 
could  no  more  be  subdued  than  her  taper  fingers 
or  slender  foot  could  be  changed. 

"  I  shall  bring  ruin  upon  you  all!"  she  would 
often  exclaim  in  tears,  discouraged  by  her  vain 
efforts.  "  I  shall  certainly  bring  ruin  upon  you 
ma  bonne— upon  you  too  my  kind  sister.  O, 
why  has  man  stamped  with  his  hatred  whatever 
is  elegant  and  graceful." 

Being  nearly  sixteen  she  was  growing  quite 
tall  too,  and  with  all  the  advantages  which  the 
custom  of  wearing  short  petticoats  allowed,  it 
was  impossible  to  make  her  present  wardrobe 
fit  for  the  street.  But  a  stuff  gown  of  Jacqui- 
line's  was  quickly  altered  to  suit,  a  new  short 
gown  was  purchased  from  our  hoarded  loiiis  d'or, 
and  Amee  herself  manufactured  a  tasteful  cap, 
which  yet  gave  her  the  appearance  of  being 
several  years  older  than  she  was.  Clumsy 
leather  shoes,  chosen  purposely  to  impede  tier 
gait  and  give  her  an  awkward  movement,  blue 
knit  stockings  with  red  clocks,  a  handkerchief 
13 


138  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

thrown  over  her  head,  and  a  deeper  tinge  of  the 
walnut  dye,  completed  Amee's  costume.  Our 
fear  would  have  led  us  to  select  the  twilight  of 
morning  for  the  walk,  but  it  was  more  necessary 
in  those  times  to  avoid  suspicion  than  open 
danger ;  so  with  a  throbbing  heart  poor  Amee 
emerged  from  her  hiding  place  at  midday,  fol- 
lowing Jacquiline's  strides  with  a  bundle  of  work 
in  her  hand. 

My  little  boys  will  imagine  how  I  spent  the 
first  hour  of  my  companions'  absence,  for  they 
remember  their  own  terrors  and  suspense  last 
year  when  news  was  brought  to  us  that  a 
prowling  wolf  had  been  seen  in  the  forest, 
through  which  their  little  sister  had  gone  to 
school ;  and  like  their  joy  when  her  careless 
laugh  was  heard  as  she  sprung  from  behind  a 
sumach  hedge  where  she  had  hidden  in  her 
mirth  and  happy  ignorance,  was  mine  when  I 
heard  Jacquiline's  heavy  tread  on  the  stairs. 

From  that  time  the  walks  were  continued, 
and  Amee's  health  and  spirits  rapidly  improved. 
She  had  a  lively  courageous  spirit,  which  was 
rather  pleased  to  struggle  with  difficulties  for  the 
delight  of  overcoming  them  ;  and  the  hope  of 
meeting  the  Comptesse  in   these  daily  walks 


THE    SABBATH.  139 

never  left  her.  "  Beside,"  she  would  say,  "  it 
prepares  me  for  the  future,  Man  oil.  Jacquiline 
cannot  remain  with  us  always,  and  even  M. 
Dubois'  stock  of  gloves  which  seem  to  our  weary 
fingers  inexhaustible,  as  he  crawls  up  stairs 
every  morning  with  a  package  for  mademoiselles, 
or,  as  the  new  term  is,  the  citoyennes,  each  a 
little  larger  than  the  last,  even  these  will  cease 
in  time — -and  then  whither  shall  we  turn  ?  Is 
it  not  wisdom  to  prepare  the  mind  for  every 
event.  Ah,  my  dear  M anon,  I  have  such  charm- 
ing plans  in  my  little  head,  all  coming  from 
these  walks  which  you  grieve  over.  When  we 
are  grown  up  women  our  louis  cVor  will  help 
us  to  open  a  little  store  for  the  sale  of  flowers. 
I  can  make  them  very  prettily,  and  you,  my 
Manon,  shall  do  nothing  but  wander  in  the  green 
woods  and  gather  my  models  for  me — will  not 
that  bring  back  your  smiles  again.  Or  you  shall 
turn  violet  girl  and  live  amidst  fresh  air  and  per- 
fume. Any  thing  rather  than  this  hot  garret, 
this  monotonous  toil." 

And  thus  with  sweet  hopes  for  the  future 
would  the  dear  young  lady  beguile  the  present, 
and  gild  our  prison  with  sunny  smiles. 


140  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Our  noisy  neighbour,  the  shoemaker,  who 
with  thousands  of  others  was  supported  by  the 
Mayor  and  Police  of  Paris  for  acting  as  an 
informer  or  searcher  out  of  suspicious  charac- 
ters for  imprisonment,  kept  us  informed  of 
much  that  was  taking  place  in  the  great  city  ;  but 
it  wTas  not  until  some  time  after  all  this  terror  and 
confusion  had  subsided,  and  men  began  calmly 
to  review  the  events  of  those  times,  that  I 
acquired  a  clear  knowledge  of  all  the  indignities 
practised  upon  the  meek  king  from  the  time  of 
the  destruction  of  the  Tuilleries  until  his 
death. 

You  have  been  told  how  his  nobility,  who 
should  have  protected  him  from  the  consequences 
of  hatred  which  themselves  had  roused,  had 
sought  for  their  own  safety  in  flight.  Some, 
dispersed  in  other  lands,  calmly  awaited  the  con- 
vulsions of  their  country ;  others,  more  nobly 
but  not  wisely,  united   their  small  means,  and 


THE   SABBATH.  141 

forming  an  army  headed  by  one  of  his  brothers, 
joined  the  Austrians  and  Prussians,  then  invad- 
ing France,  and  poured  their  first  revenge  on 
those  parts  which  least  deserved  it.  Although 
Louis,  as  head  of  the  French  nation,  had  pub- 
lished declarations  of  war  against  these  powers, 
no  one  gave  him  credit  for  sincerity.  The  gene- 
ral impression  which  the  experience  of  former 
reigns  had  produced,  was  that  kings  must  be 
tyrants  by  a  sort  of  necessity  of  their  station  ;  for 
the  laws  of  France  had  fashioned  their  monarchs 
into  such,  at  least  to  the  lower  classes  ;  it  was 
therefore  judged  that  whatever  his  words  might 
be,  Louis  could  not  but  wish  success  to  the 
arms  of  those  who  were  to  restore  to  him  the 
privileges  of  his  family. 

The  very  sacredness  of  his  person  as  King, 
which  according  to  the  absurd  regulations  of 
European  governments,  was  kept  up  by  forms 
of  restriction  and  reserve  from  the  society  of 
other  human  beings  except  those  in  whose 
veins  the  blood  of  kings  and  princes  wandered, 
prevented  the  good  and  kind  of  the  kingdom,  a 
still  numerous  class,  from  knowing  how  like  his 
thoughts  and  feelings  were  to  their  own.  And 
it  was  not  until  reverses  of  fortune,  poverty,  im- 
13* 


142  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

prisonment,  and  outrage,  by  throwing  the  meek 
Prince  among  them,  gave  opportunities  for 
knowing  him  better,  that  they  really  loved  or 
pitied  the  victim  which  it  was  then  too  late  to 
save. 

But  my  remarks  precede  my  narrative. 

On  the  evening  of  the  fatal  10th  of  August, 
and  within  the  hearing  of  the  royal  family,  it 
was  decided  in  the  National  Assembly  that  the 
King  was  dethroned  by  the  will  of  the  people — 
they  had  long  acted  without  the  slightest  refer- 
ence to  the  will  of  God  ; — but  although  reduced 
to  the  rank  of  an  ordinary  citizen,  as  an  enemy 
to  the  country  he  must  be  detained  a  prisoner. 
They  were  accordingly  removed  to  a  few  con- 
tracted apartments,  and  except  when  night 
brought  its  friendly  slumbers,  were  never  free 
from  the  intolerable  presence  of  a  guard,  who 
reported  to  his  masters  their  every  action  and 
word.  As  these  were  often  chosen  from  the 
lowest  of  the  people,  every  insult  which  brutal 
malice  could  devise  was  offered  to  the  noble 
prisoners.  The  ordinary  civilities  of  life  were 
thrown  aside;  brutal  scrawls  deformed  the  walls 
of  their  apartments  ;  the  heads  of  their  slaughter- 
ed friends  were  carried  by  their  windows  with 


THE    SABBATH.  143 

songs  of  triumph.  If  they  sought  the  air  within 
the  narrow  enclosure  they  were  allowed  to 
traverse,  the  guards  puffed  filthy  tobacco  smoke 
into  the  faces  of  the  ladies,  or  insulted  their  ears 
with  low  abuse.  But  all  this  was  born  with  a 
gentle  dignity  that  has  spread  a  lustre  round  the 
names  of  Louis  and  Mario  Antoinette,  scarcely 
less  than  that  which  gilds  the  memories  of  the 
holy  martyrs. 

They  passed  the  weary  months  of  captivity 
in  the  quiet  pleasures  of  domestic  love.  The 
Dauphin,  a  gentle  little  creature  of  five  years 
old,  was  instructed  by  his  father  while  the  ladies 
worked,  and  the  evenings  were  spent  in  reading. 
They  separated  early,  and  always  with  tears 
and  embraces,  as  those  who  might  not  be  allowr- 
ed  to  see  each  other  again.  At  last  the  rigor  of 
their  jailors  deprived  them  of  all  sharp  utensils. 
Their  clothing  fell  into  rags,  which  they  were 
no  longer  able  to  repair  ;  the  King's  neglected 
beard  added  to  their  appearance  of  distress ; 
while  the  poor  Queen  was  too  happy  to  accept 
the  clothing  which  the  charity  of  an  English  lady 
sent  to  her. 

But  while  these  indignities  were  patiently 
endured  within  the  walls  of  the  Temple,  with- 


144  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

out  all  was  anarchy.  The  moderate  people  of 
the  country,  the  philosophers,  the  friends  of  the 
reign  of  reason,  had  no  longer  bonds  with  which 
to  restrain  the  furious  mass  that  their  own  hands 
had  roused  and  moulded.  Religion,  the  author- 
ity of  God,  was  acknowledged  no  longer,  and 
unfortunately  it  was  found  that  no  man's  reason 
agreed  with  that  of  his  neighbour.  The  soldier 
was  taught  by  those  who  would  corrupt  him, 
that  his  reason  made  him  independent  of  the 
orders  of  his  general ;  the  reason  of  the  civil 
authorities  of  Paris  placed  them  above  the 
Assembly,  which  had  been  chosen  for  the 
government  and  welfare  of  the  whole  country  ; 
and  the  reason  of  the  secret  clubs  which  existed 
in  every  part  of  France,  taught  them  by  threats 
and  slaughter  to  triumph  over  the  whole. 

How  this  reign  of  reason  acted  in  private  on 
families,  on  parent  and  child,  on  master  and 
servant,  I  had  no  opportunity  for  observing  ;  but 
I  know  that  long  before  its  close,  our  patriotic 
shoemaker  and  his  wife  had  separated  in  quarrels 
and  disgust,  each  to  seek  a  new  partner  accord- 
ing to  the  dictates  of  reason. 

But  the  sufferings  of  our  meek  hearted  King 
were  approaching  an  end.     The  Jacobin  party 


THE    SABBATH.  145 

having  completely  triumphed  over  their  former 
teachers,  the  infidel  philosophers,  he  was  indict- 
ed at  the  bar  of  the  House  like  a  common 
prisoner.  I  have  not  room  here  for  an  account 
of  that  trial  which  I  hope  you  will  seek  for  in 
larger  works,  and  weep  over  as  I  have  often 
done,  receiving  beneficial  impressions  of  patient 
rectitude  from  one,  who  gave  nobler  lessons  to 
man  at  the  close  of  his  life,  than  he  perhaps 
would  have  done  had  it  rolled  on  in  the  prosper- 
ous course  of  his  ancestors.  A  great  man  has 
said,  that:?."  the  good,  like  chamomile,  give  out 
most  perfume  when  trodden  on." 

His  counsel  plead  nobly  for  him,  but  of  what 
use  were  arguments  when  his  judges  had  settled 
his  fate  before  he  was  brought  to  trial :  he  was 
sentenced  to  death  as  the  secret  enemy  of  his 
country,  to  which  he  had  been  the  first  of  his 
line  to  offer  freedom. 

His  execution  took  place  in  twenty-four  hours 
after  sentence  had  been  passed  upon  him.  Our 
tears  flowed  freely  as  our  neighbour  described 
the  scene  to  his  wife,  but  we  were  forced  to 
stifle  our  sobs  lest  they  should  provoke  his 
attention.  From  his  account  it  would  appear 
that  the  good  King  could  not  take  his  leave  of 


146  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

earth  and  earth's  familiar  objects,  without  visible 
emotion.  It  would  seem  too  that  he  scarcely 
believed  his  subjects  would  really  shed  his 
blood.  He  pressed  forward  to  the  front  of  the 
scaffold  and  would  have  addressed  the  spectators, 
but  the  loud  beating  of  drums  drowned  his  voice. 
He  submitted  to  the  instrument  of  death.  "  Son 
of  St.  Louis,  ascend  to  heaven  !"  cried  the  attend- 
ing clergyman,  and  the  meekest  head  that  ever 
wore  a  crown  rolled  from  the  bleeding  trunk. 

Alas  !  alas  !  and  this  was  done  by  French- 
men—by my  countrymen !  Yes,  they  were 
Frenchmen,  it  is  true  ;  but  they  were  only  a 
part  of  that  unlicensed  mob  which  exists  all  over 
the  world  ;  held  in  order  in  most  places  by  the 
beneficial  laws  and  presence  of  wiser  and  better 
men,  but  ready  for  the  same  acts  of  violence 
when  that  restraint  is  withdrawn, 


THE    SABBATH.  147 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

The  second  winter  of  our  abode  in  Paris 
wore  on,  and  still  we  heard  nothing  of  Claude 
or  the  Comptesse.  The  invading  armies  had 
been  unsuccessful.  The  emigrant  nobility  having 
thus  sacrificed  all  the  means  which  the  Revolution 
at  home  had  left  them,  were  forced  to  wander 
into  other  countries,  and  there  earn  a  scanty 
livelihood  either  by  the  military  profession,  or 
by  some  of  the  accomplishments  acquired  in 
their  days  of  prosperity.  If  such  was  the  fate 
of  the  leaders,  where  were  those  who,  like 
Claude,  were  too  humble  for  encouragement  in 
foreign  lands* 

I  think  the  silent  sufferings  of  that  winter  are 
more  deeply  impressed  upon  my  memory  than 
those  of  any  other  period.  It  was  not  that  we 
were  molested  in  our  retreat,  nor  were  any 
acts  of  violence  committed  in  our  presence  ;  but 
we  could  hope  no  longer.     We  had  ever  looked 


148  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

to  the  success  of  these  armies  as  the  means 
which  would  restore  us  to  all  that  we  had  been 
deprived  of;  to  Amee,  rank,  wealth,  and  a 
mother's  embrace,  to  me,  a  brother  and  pro- 
tector. But  the  dream  was  over  and  our  fate 
seemed  fixed. 

With  our  dangerous  neighbour  always  ready 
to  earn  a  few  livres  by  denouncing,  as  the  act 
of  the  informer  was  called,  we  dared  not  trust 
ourselves  in  conversation,  lest  some  allusion, 
some  word  might  trace  our  dangerous  connec- 
tion with  the  house  of  Anjou.  Neither  dared 
we  fully  express  to  each  other  the  sickening 
fears  that  filled  our  young  hearts.  Amee's 
walks  were  still  continued,  and  she  still  searched 
for  the  dear  features  of  a  mother  from  whom  she 
had  been  separated  so  long,  but  it  was  ever 
with  disappointment ;  and  sometimes  a  burst  of 
gushing  tears  on  her  return,  would  tell  the  bit- 
ter sorrow  that  filled  her  heart.  Our  intolera- 
ble confinement  and  scanty  food  had  been  borne 
at  first  with  cheerfulness,  because  like  inex- 
perienced children  as  we  were,  we  believed  that 
relief  would  arrive  speedily  from  some  quar- 
ter ;    but  month  after  month,    year  after  year 


THE   SABBATH.  149 

passed  over,  and  we  were  still  immured 
in  the  little  garret ;  still  the  morning  sun 
rose  to  see  us  at  our  joyless  labour,  and 
when  he  descended  we  stretched  ourselves 
upon  our  humble  beds,  glad  to  lose  in  slumber 
the  painful  thoughts  that  oppressed  us. 

What  should  we  have  been  there  without  our 
mutual  love,  and  firm  confidence  in  God,  sus- 
tained to  us  through  prayer  and  the  constant 
reading  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  !  O,  that  all 
the  sufferers  of  those  times  had  known  as  we 
did,  the  way  to  those  sacred  rills  of  comforts  ! 

I  shall  best  carry  on  my  narrative  of  the 
course  of  events  in  France  if  I  continue  here 
the  story  of  the  Comptesse  after  she  had  left 
Marie  la  Bonne,  as  she  related  them  to  us 
herself,  when  we  were  at  last  restored  to  each 
other. 

The  relative  of  the  Cur6  with  whom  she 
took  refuge  was  a  timid  man,  and  the  lady  soon 
perceived  that  her  asylum  was  very  insecure, 
particularly  when  some  change  in  the  army 
brought  a  detachment  of  troops  into  her  neigh- 
bourhood. Whilst  considering  where  to  seek 
another  hiding  place,  Claude  found  means  to  see 
14 


150  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

her,  on  his  way  to  the  frontier,  and  acquainted 
her  with  the  terrible  events  which  had  taken 
place   at   the  village,   with   his   visit  to  Paris, 

and  our  safety.  The  Comptesse  saw  plainly 
that  Mam'selle  Julie  was  safest  when  separated 
from  her,  and  though  suffering  all  a  mother's 
grief  at  the  resolution,  she  determined  to  keep 
as  distant  as  possible  from  the  hiding  place 
of  her  daughter,  sure  that  she  might  confide  in 
Jacquiline's  prudence,  until  more  peaceful  times 
should  unite  them,  and  these  she  believed  were 
not  far  distant. 

But  where  should  she  hide  her  own  poor 
head  '.—Claude  refused  to  leave  her  until  she 
should  be  in  safety,  and  anxiety  for  him  made 
her  decide  quickly. 

*  The  earliest  years  of  her  life  had  been  spent 
in  a  very  pleasant  district  in  France  called  La 
Vendee  where  her  father  had  a  small  estate  for 
hunting.  Now  the  early  devotion  felt  by  the 
peasant  for  his  lord,  which  I  have  described  to 
you  in  the  commencement  of  this  tale,  from 
some  circumstances  continued  to  exist  in  La 
Vendee  long  after  it  ceased,  or  had  grown  cool, 
in  all  other  parts  of  the  country.     All  the  inter- 


THE    SABBATH.  151 

esting  features  of  this  attachment  were  preserved 
at  this  time  in  La  Vendee  in  particular  beauty. 
The  nobility  and  gentry  being  generally  too 
poor  for  the  extravagancies  of  Paris,  resided  on 
their  estates,  and  cultivated  the  affections  of 
their  simple  people  by  their  own  virtue  and 
kindness,  while  these  amply  repaid  them  by  the 
most  devoted  service.  Consequently,  the  flames 
of  discord  which  were  ravaging,  all  other  parts 
of  France,  had  not  yet  reached  this  little  dis- 
trict. La  Vendee  was  still  in  a  state  of  pro- 
found peace.  There  the  Sabbath  was  still 
observed,  the  priest  still  worshipped  at  the 
Altar,  for  men  had  not  learned  to  blaspheme 
there  in  the  name  of  Reason  and  Philosophy. 

The  lady  might  have  claimed  an  asylum  at 
some  of  the  Chateaux,  though  her  father's 
estate  there  had  passed  by  inheritance  to  a  dis^ 
tant  branch  of  the  family,  and  had  quite  gone 
to  decay,  but  she  felt  safest  among  the  humble. 

"  I  saw,"  she  observed,  "  that  the  tide  of 
hatred  and  warfare  was  turning  against  the  rich 
and  noble  ;  that  henceforth,  if  I  would  pre- 
serve life,  it  must  be  by  bearing  the  name  and 
degree  of  a  labourer  ;  and  I  felt  that  it  was  wisest 


152  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

to  gain  the  appearance  and  habits  of  one.  Jean- 
nette  Le  Blanc,  a  soldier's  wife,  as  my  pass- 
port declared  me  to  be,  must  continue  in  the 
class  to  which  she  pretended  to  belong." 

They  were  not  many  days  ride  from  La 
Vendee,  and  happily  the  roads  in  that  direction 
were  "But  little  disturbed,  so  without  much  diffi- 
culty she  reached  the  home  of  her  infant  days. 
She  sought  immediately  the  cottage  of  her 
nurse  where  she  had  used  to  be  regaled  on 
strawberries  and  cream  or  hazle-nuts.  It  stood 
on  the  borders  of  a  little  wood  which  surrounded 
the  Chateau,  and  its  utter  loneliness  seemed  to 
promise  shelter  and  rest  to  the  poor  fugitive. 

The  only  inhabitants  of  the  cottage  were  Pierre, 
the  husband  of  her  nurse,  and  his  granddaughter. 
Her  nurse  had  died  a  few  years  previous  and 
the  lady's  foster  sister,  the  mother  of  Laurette, 
quite  recently. 

The  old  man  had  been  gardener  at  the 
Chateau,  and  still  remembered  his  little  nursling. 
His  simplicity  led  him  to  believe  the  poor  lady's 
story,  although  her  stained  complexion  and 
humble  dress  made  her  appear  as  any  thing 
rather  the  wife  of  the  Compte  of  Anjou,  and 


THE    SABBATH.  153 

with  many  tears  and  blessings  he  made  her 
welcome  to  the  shelter  of  his  roof.  Indeed 
the  only  difficulty  had  been  in  making  him 
comprehend  the  necessity  for  concealing 
herself  in  a  place  so  lowly.  Pierre  had 
heard  little  of  the  disturbances,  and  compre- 
hended their  causes  still  less.  It  seemed  utterly 
impossible  to  him  that  a  vassal  should  feel  any 
thing  less  than  profound  obedience  for  his  lord, 
and  that  attachment  which  would  lead  him  to 
yield  up  life  in  his  defence.  The  lady  felt 
reluctant  to  dispel  this  delusive  feeling  from  the 
old  man's  mind,  so  she  merely  commanded 
him  in  the  mildest  manner  to  allow  her  to  make 
her  own  arrangements.  With  sighs  and 
exclamations  of  wonder  which  were  never 
exhausted,  the  old  man  submitted ;  and  after 
seeing  her  settled  in  much  the  same  situation 
as  she  had  held  at  our  farm,  Claude  departed. 

Our  good  lady  described  her  life  there  as 
being  delightfully  tranquil  for  months. 

"  Thanks  to  your  little  Bible,  Manon,"  said 
she,  "I  had  learned  to  confide  the  future"  to 
Him,  who    whether  in  life  or  death   does   all 

14* 


154  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

things  well.  I  looked  at  my  situation,  so  full  of 
perils,  in  a  composed  spirit,  for  I  had  no  desire 
but  to  be  led  by  Him  who,  as  I  had  been 
taught,  cared  even  for  the  sparrows  that  built 
in  careless  security  under  our  cottage  eaves.  I 
had  learned  to  labour  ;  and  no  one  who  has 
not  tried  it  can  imagine  how  the  employment  of 
the  hand,  with  that  energy  which  is  necessary 
to  procure  the  daily  bread,  lightens  the  burdens 
of  the  heart.  Even  my  sweet  Julie  I  had 
given  in  perfect  confidence  to  her  Heavenly 
Father ;  and  in  that  tranquil  cottage,  surrounded 
by  the  ever  silent  woods,  I  enjoyed  a  peace 
which  I  had  never  known  in  the  castles  of  my 
ancestors." 

Laurette,  the  granddaughter  of  Pierre,  was  a 
beautiful  girl  of  fifteen,  and  as  good  as  she  was 
pretty.  The  death  of  her  mother,  which  had 
thrown  so  much  household  care  upon  her,  had 
made  her  far  before  her  years  in  knowledge 
and  industry.  She  managed  her  grandfather's 
little  family,  took  care  of  the  bees  and  poultry, 
spun  the  linen,  as  if  she  had  been  twenty.  Be- 
sides she  earned  a  few  livres  every  week  by 
doing  up  linen,  and  plaiting  the  caps  of  the  dames 


THE    SABBATH.  155 

in  the  nearest  hamlet,  an  art  which  she  learned 
from  her  mother  who  excelled  in  it. 

The  Comptesse  soon  learned  to  iron  and 
plait  as  neatly  as  Laurette,  and  the  assistance  of 
her  labours  made  the  family  more  comfortable. 
It  would  have  been  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world  for  Pierre  and  Laurette  to  tell  their  friends, 
who  came  to  visit  them  for  business  or  pleasure, 
all  of  the  lady's  history  and  misfortunes,  for 
they  were  sure  that  every  peasant  in  the  vicinity 
would  rather  die  than  betray  her;  but  as  she 
deemed  it  imprudent,  and  had  laid  her  com- 
mands upon  them,  she  was  known  only  as 
Jeannette  Le  Blanc,  whom  Pierre's  wife  had 
loved  very  much,  and  whom  the  uncertain  fate 
of  her  husband,  a  soldier,  had  driven  among 
them. 

"It  was  so  soothing  to  my  poor  heart,"  said 
the  lady,  "  to  be  again  among  a  people  preserv- 
ing the  habits  and  feelings  of  Frenchmen  ;  for 
in  the  events  of  the  last '  few  years  I  had  ceased 
to  recognise  my  country.  There  was  the 
same  touching,  respectful  attachment  to  the 
Seigneur,  the  same  simple  piety  and  obliging 
cheerfulness  of  character  among  all  classes,  to 


156  THE    LAND   WITHOUT 

which  I  had  been  accustomed.  It  was  so  like 
the  days  of  our  own  village,  Manon,  to  hear  the 
chapel  bell  tolling  for  vespers  or  the  solemnities 
of  the  Sabbath,  to  receive  the  good  old  Cure  to 
our  fireside,  to  share  our  grapes  and  milk  with 
him  and  receive  his  blessing ;  or  to  see  the  light- 
hearted  Laurette  dressing  at  evening,  when  her 
labour  was  over,  in  her  neat  jacket,  linen  white 
as  snow,  and  tasteful  head-dress,  for  the  village 
dance,  which  old  Pierre  still  loved  to  contem- 
plate, sitting  under  the  great  linden  tree." 

Then  the  hunts  of  the  gentry,  which  the 
peasants  from  the  whole  district  attended ;  the 
good  humoured  sports  and  frolics  of  all  classes, 
without  pride  on  the  one  hand,  as  without  pre- 
sumption on  the  other. — Alas  !  that  this  one 
asylum  for  old  fashioned  habits  and  opinions 
could  not  remain,  unspoiled  by  war  or  rapine." 


THE    SABBATH.  157 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

But  our  lady's  tranquillity  was  not  permitted 
to  endure,  in  such  a  tumultuous  period.  Whilst 
the  faithful  Vendeans  were  still  mourning  in 
silent  indignation  for  their  King,  an  order  was 
received,  called  the  conscript  law,  commanding 
each  village  to  furnish  a  certain  number  of  men 
for  replenishing  the  exhausted  armies  of  the  re- 
public. 

Brave  as  the  Vendeans  were,  they  had  al- 
ready silently  submitted  to  much  injustice  from 
those  whom  they  could  not  hope  to  conquer; 
but  to  fight  in  support  of  measures  and  opinions 
which  they  detested,  and  for  the  protection  of 
men  whose  hands  were  red  with  the  blood  of 
their  King  and  countrymen,  was  asking  too 
much  of  man's  spirit,  at  least  as  it  was  found  in 
the  wild  thickets  of  La  Vendee.  Over  the 
whole  country,  village  after  village,  hamlet  after 
hamlet  refused  in  turn  to  obey  the  cruel  law, 


158  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

and  the  district  was  declared  in  a  state  of  rebel- 
lion. 

But  the  hardy  peasant  found  it  easy  to  defend 
himself  in  the  peculiar  country  in  which  he  had 
been  reared.  Its  thickets  and  ditches,  its  forests 
and  bewildering  paths,  which  misled  and  con- 
founded his  enemies,  were  safety  and  defence 
to  him ;  he  therefore  continued  long  to  exult  in 
his  freedom,  and  to  set  the  conscrijH  law  at  de- 
fiance. 

But  whether  taken  up  at  the  call  of  self-de- 
fence or  of  unjust  man,  war  is  full  of  evils.  Family 
union  is  destroyed  by  it ;  industry  and  quiet 
pleasures  are  thought  of  no  more,  while  men 
are  filled  with  the  excitement  of  battle,  con- 
quest, and  pursuit.  The  peaceable  fruits  of 
righteousness  cannot  grow  where  the  tempest 
of  excited  passions  is  raging. 

La  Vendee  was  no  longer  a  quiet  resting- 
place  ;  yet  even  there  the  poor  lady  was  in  less 
danger  than  in  other  districts  ;  for  as  there  was 
no  one  in  the  family  to  engage  actively  in  the 
warfare,  and  they  were  at  quite  a  distance  from 
the  hamlet,  she  had  reason  to  hope  that  even  if 
the  Vendeans  failed  at  last  to  defend  their  coun- 


THE    SABBATH.  159 

try,  vengeance  would  not  spend  itself  on  a  spot 
so  humble. 

The  warlike  spirit  seemed  more  active  every- 
where than  in  their  neighbourhood.  Laurette 
still  laughed  and  sung  ;  Pierre  still  dug  a  little 
in  the  warm  sunshine,  around  his  salad  beds,  or 
watched  his  bee-hives.  The  services  of  reli- 
gion still  continued,  though  the  attendants  were 
very  often  confined  to  the  women  and  old  men ; 
the  younger  being  frequently  drawn  away  by 
the  patriotism  of  their  neighbours  to  distant 
skirmishes.  Yet  still  the  Veandeans  continued 
successful,  and  the  injury  done  to  the  country 
was  comparatively  slight. 

About  a  year  had  passed  over  in  this  way, 
when  old  Pierre  fell  ill  of  a  fever.  The  circum- 
stances of  the  family,  like  those  of  their  neigh- 
bours, were  far  less  comfortable  than  they  had 
been  ;  for  although  the  peasant  never  totally 
neglected  his  home  and  family  for  war,  and  the 
women  did  all  they  could  at  out-of-door  labour 
to  assist  their  husbands  and  brothers,  it  was  im- 
possible but  that  in  the  marchings  and  tumults 
of  a  disordered  country,  fields  and  vineyards 
should    be    trampled   and    destroyed,    cottages 


160  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

should  be  burned,  flocks  and  herds  slain. 
No  more  Hvres  were  earned  by  washing  and 
plaiting,  for  the  villagers  had  none  to  spare  ; 
and  the  good  lady  had  begun  to  fear  that  she 
should  become  a  burden  to  her  kind  protectors. 
The  contest  too  had  drawn  near  to  their  little 
hamlet,  and  their  prospects  were  dreary. 

The  skill  of  the  Comptesse  made  her  at  once 
physician  and  nurse  to  the  old  man,  but  his 
fever  was  very  severe.  The  friends  who  visited 
them  brought  daily  intelligence  of  the  approach 
of  a  part  of  the  revolutionary  army,  rendered 
furious  by  ill  success,  which  had  already  com- 
mitted the  most  shocking  cruelties  on  men  and 
animals;  and  the  little  hamlet  was  full  of  alarm. 
As  poor  old  Pierre's  fever  approached  its  crisis 
he  had  become  delirious,  and  terrifying  as  the 
news  from  the  army  might  be,  the  lady  and 
Laurette  had  no  choice  but  to  watch  beside  his 
sick  bed. 

Laurette,  indeed,  who  had  scarcely  ever  seen 
sickness,  and  loved  her  poor  old  grandfather 
dearly,  was  nearly  distracted  by  grief,  and  quite 
indifferent  to  any  other  fear  than  that  of  parting 
from  him.     She  watched  him  incessantly,  gath- 


tup:  sabbath.  161 

ered  with  the  greatest  care  the  herbs  used  by 
the  lady  for  his  recovery,  and  bathed  his  burn- 
ing hands  with  her  tears. 

It  was  now  certain  that  the  "Blues,"  as  the 
republican  army  was  called  by  the  peasants 
from  the  colour  of  its  uniform,  were  approach- 
ing. Spies  had  given  notice  to  the  hamlet,  and 
the  women  busied  themselves  in  conveying  their 
grain  and  other  provision  to  recesses  in  the  rocks 
where  fire  could  not  attack  it,  while  all  who 
could,  found  shelter  for  themselves  and  their 
little  ones  in  the  woods  and  thickets.  The  in- 
habitants of  Pierre's  cottage  were  left  alone  by 
the  bed-side  of  the  sick. 

As  had  been  feared,  a  band  of  the  desolating 
army  passed  through  the  hamlet,  but  there  was 
little  to  plunder,  and  the  victorious  peasants 
were  behind ;  so  contenting  themselves  by  firing 
a  few  cottages,  which  a  drenching  rain  soon  ex- 
tinguished, they  hastened  onward. 

As  the  Comptesse  had  hoped,  Pierre's  little 
habitation  escaped  their  notice  altogether,  and 
the  inmates  were  too  much  engaged  in  atten- 
tions to  the  poor  old  man,  whose  fever  was  now 
at  its  height,  to  have  their  fears  disturbed  as  they 
15 


162  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

would  otherwise  have  been.  It  seemed  pretty 
certain  that  his  fate  for  life  or  death  would  be 
decided  in  a  few  hours,  and  they  sat  watching 
every  change  of  his  countenance  throughout  the 
day,  with  the  deepest  anxiety.  The  lady's  skill 
led  her  to  anticipate  his  recovery,  but  Laurette 
could  not  be  persuaded  that  her  poor  old  grand- 
father would  be  restored  to  her.  She  had  all 
the  superstitions  of  her  country;  and  so  many 
omens  of  death  had  been  given,  according  to 
her  fancies,  by  owls,  rats,  dogs,  and  all  the 
other  sagacious  creatures  which  ignorance  has 
singled  out,  that  reasoning  with,  or  consoling 
her,  were  equally  vain.  Unaffected  by  the 
clouds  of  smoke,  which  rising  over  the  tree- 
tops  told  of  the  presence  of  the  long-dreaded 
"  Blues,"  she  watched  and  wept  by  the  sick 
bed.  The  lady  talked  of  submission  to  God; 
and  she  prayed  incessantly  to  the  saints  and  the 
Holy  Virgin  for  his  life,  but  still  she  was  un- 
comforted. 

It  was  towards  evening  when  the  old  man 
roused  a  little,  and  seemed  to  recognise  them. 
This  was  the  moment  the  lady  had  been  wait- 
ing for  with  so  much  anxiety,  and  both  leaned 


THE    SABBATH.  103 

over  his  bed.  He  murmured  the  name  of  Fa- 
ther Clement,  the  Cure,  andLaurette  was  bound- 
ing to  the  door  to  go  in  search  of  him. 

"  Laurette,"  exclaimed  the  Comptesse,  "  you 
must  not  venture  abroad  to-night !  the  woods 
and  paths  are  full  of  danger  !" 

"  But  my  good  grandfather, — he  will  die 
without  having  seen  the  priest,  and  then  think 
of  all  that  his  poor  soul  will  suffer !" 

"  My  dear  Laurette,  your  grandfather  is  not 
dying — beside,  he  could  scarcely  understand 
what  the  good  father  would  say  to  him  if  he 
were  here  ; — the  villagers  too  are  all  dispersed, 
and  even  if  the  way  were  perfectly  safe,  you 
know  not  where  to  find  the  Cure." 

"  O,  yes  !"  she  exclaimed,  "I  know  he  is 
in  the  hazle  glen  of  the  Bois-La  roche,  for  there 
the  old  folks  and  children  were  to  hide,  and 
surely  Father  Clement  would  be  near  the  most 
helpless." 

"  Laurette,  my  good  girl,"  replied  the  lady, 
"  you  are  too  young  to  understand  the''  dangers 
you  would  encounter  by  going  out  alone  in  the 
dusk  of  evening  through  our  woods.  Our  spies 
tell  us  that  the  Blues  have  departed  since  noon; 


164.  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

yet  there  may  still  be  straggling  parties  wan- 
dering about,  and  even  here  we  are  scarcely 
safe.  Yet  I  trust  this  feeble  old  man  may  be 
our  protection  should  they  attack  us.  Sit  down 
and  watch  beside  your  grandfather,  Laurette, 
whilst  I  prepare  him  a  little  nourishment." 

The  lady  was  occupied  in  the  little  kitchen 
about  half  an  hour,  and  when  she  again  entered 
the  cottage  she  was  startled  to  find  the  sick  man 
quite  alone.  It  had  now  become  dark,  but  the 
torch  which  she  carried  in  her  hand,  made  from 
the  knot  of  a  pine  tree,  threw  its  red  light  over 
his  face,  and  she  was  delighted  to  observe  that 
his  feeble  eyes  as  they  turned  toward  the  torch, 
seemed  to  know  her. 

"How  are  you,  father,"  she  said,  approach- 
ing the  bed,  "  and  where  is  Laurette." 

The  old  man  murmured  something,  scarcely 
intelligible  between  age  and  weakness,  about  the 
Cure,  and  the  Comptesse  immediately  under- 
stood the  whole  matter.  It  was  evident  that  the 
poor  girl's  fears  for  the  spiritual  safety  of  her 
grandfather  had  induced  her  to  disobey  the  lady, 
and  to  set  out  through  darkness  and  tempest, 
through  peril  from  wolves,  which  much  infested 


THE    SABBATH.  1G5 

the  country,  and  from  wandering  soldiers,  more 
fearful  in  their  rage  than  beasts  of  prey,  to  seek 
the  spot  where  the  Cure  had  secreted  himself, 
or  was  guarding  the  helpless. 

I  cannot  describe  to  you  the  sufferings  of  the 
lady  during  that  long  night.  After  Pierre  had 
taken  some  nourishment  he  fell  asleep,  but  it 
was  so  like  the  slumber  of  death,  that  the  lady 
often  placed  her  hand  upon  his  heart  to  be  cer- 
tain that  it  beat.  Except  the  pattering  of  the 
rain  and  the  scraping  of  the  boughs  oA'er  the 
roof  of  the  cottage  as  the  wind  swayed  them 
backward  and  forward,  not  a  sound  was  to  be 
heard,  until  the  owls  in  a  distant  ruin  added 
their  doleful  notes, 

"  Again,  Manon,"  said  the  lady,  "  your  little 
Bible  was  my  support.  When,  after  peering 
out  of  the  casement  for  the  poor  imprudent 
Laurette,  although  I  trembled  to  show  a  wo- 
man's form  to  some  wandering  soldier,  I  would 
become  terrified  at  the  deep  darkness  and  lone- 
liness of  my  situation,  and  would  return  to  the 
hardly  less  lonely  couch  of  Pierre,  or  would 
count  the  loud  beatings  of  my  heart,  almost  suf- 
focated by  terror,  which,  when  my  head  rested 
15* 


166  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

on  the  sick  man's  pillow,  I  often  mistook  for  the 
hasty  footsteps  of  Laurette,  I  would  crouch 
down  by  the  little  torch  and  read  its  words  of 
comfort,  the  terrors  of  excited  imagination  would 
leave  me,  and  even  the  darkness  become  less 
obscure." 

Thus  the  night  passed  slowly  and  gave  no 
news  of  the  imprudent  wanderer. 

At  first  the  Comptesse  hoped  she  had  been 
detained  at  thehazle  glen  by  the  Cure,  or  the  villa- 
gers, but  the  early  morning  had  nearly  passed 
over  when  she  heard  the  tramping  of  feet. 
Fearing  the  approach  of  a  party  of  soldiers,  she 
placed  herself  near  the  casement  where  she 
could  not  be  seen  ;  almost  immediately  a  party 
of  peasants  belonging  to  their  own  hamlet  issued 
from  the  opposite  grove,  bearing  a  litter  formed 
of  branches.  Giving  a  hasty  glance  toward  the 
still  sleeping  old  man,  the  lady  directed  them  to 
the  outhouse,  and  when  they  laid  down  their 
burden  it  showed  the  body  of  the  young  pretty 
Laurette,  covered  with  wounds,  drenched  with 
rain  and  blood,  her  soft  dark  eyes  glazing  in 
death.  She  fixed  a  look  of  agony  upon  the 
lady,  and  died  with  the  tale  of  horror  untold, 
upon  her  lips." 


THE  SABBATH.  I  07 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

I  cannot  bear  to  wound  your  happy  young 
hearts,  my  dear  boys,  with  these  mournful  sto- 
ries ;  yet  it  is  quite  proper  that  you  should  be 
made  to  see  some  of  the  horrid  features  of 
anarchy  and  irreligion  ;  that  when  you  take  your 
places  in  society  as  men,  and  the  guardians  of 
your  country,  you  may  learn,  from  early  impres- 
sions to  dread  their  slightest  approach. 

It  was  easy  to  imagine  Laurette's  story,  al- 
though her  dying  lips  had  failed  to  give  it  utter- 
ance. She  had  been  found  about  an  hour  before 
in  a  damp  thicket,  half-way  between  her  home 
and  the  Bois-Laroche  nearly  insensible.  When 
the  mourning  peasants  had  bound  up  her  gaping 
wounds  with  strips  torn  from  their  own  linen, 
and  poured  some  wine  between  her  lips,  she 
revived  sufficiently  to  murmur,  "  the  Blues!" 
"home!"  They  saw  that  she  was  dying,  so 
hastily  constructing  a  litter  they  bore  her  upon 
their  shoulders  as  gently  as  possible,  and  she 


168  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

expired  as  I  have  told  you  at  the  threshhold  of 
her  own  cottage. 

The  men  withdrew,  pouring  horrible  threats 
of  vengeance  upon  the  Republican  Array,  which 
every  where  marked  its  progress  or  retreat  by 
such  fiendlike  outrages,  and  at  last  excited  the 
once  virtuous  and  humane  peasants  of  La  Ven- 
dee to  similar  acts.  The  Comptesse  gently 
stretched  out  the  stiffening  limbs  of  poor  Lau- 
rette,  and  then  taking  her  pretty  young  face 
upon  her  lap,  bedewed  it  with  a  mother's  tears. 

"  I  thought,"  she  said,  "  of  my  own  poor 
child,  and  I  earnestly  prayed  to  God  that  He 
would  not  allow  the  terrors  and  grief  of  the 
present  moment  to  take  away  my  confidence  in 
Him." 

As  the  lady  had  predicted  Pierre  recovered  ; 
but  his  mind  was  extremely  feeble,  and  fearing 
that  a  sudden  shock  should  deprive  him  of 
his  faculties  altogether,  the  Comptesse  care- 
fully guarded  the  story  of  Laurette's  fate  from 
him  ;  - — - —  he  supposed  her  on  a  visit  to  distant 
friends.  But  one  day  during  her  temporary  ab- 
sence, he  received  a  visit  from  an  old  friend, 
scarcely  less  removed  from  childishness  than 
himself.     Finding  out  Pierre's  ignorance  of  the 


THE    SABBATH.  169 

fate  of  his  grandchild,  and  delighted  to  have  a 
new  horror  to  relate,  the  old  man  told  the  tale 
to  the  invalid  with  terrible  fidelity.  When  the 
lady  entered  old  Claude  was  lingering  over  and 
repeating  the  story  with  great  pleasure  to  Pierre, 
who  was  leaning  forward  from  his  arm  chair 
with  his  eyes  staring  on  the  narrator,  every 
feature  rigid  as  marble  ! 

Rubbing  with  the  hand  and  applications  of 
wild  mustard  restored  the  circulation  to  his  body 
but  his  mind  was  gone  forever !  Pierre  lived, 
but  he  was  a  stupid  idiot ! — 


The  war  of  the  Vendeans  continued  for  nearly 
a  year  after  this  time,  until  the  surrounding  coun- 
tries were  well  nigh  desolated:  though  fortu- 
nately  for  the  lady  the  warfare  was  carried  on 
chiefly  in  the  neighbouring  districts,  and  La 
Vendee  itself  suffered  far  less  than  the  others. 
But  I  will  spare  you  its  horrible  details  ;  enough 
that  these  men,  who  claimed  to  be  the  liberators 
of  the  world  from  the  prejudices  of  religion,  and 
the  friends  of  the  human  race,  caused  helpless 


170  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

women  and  children  to  be  roasted  alive;  bound 
them  in  bundles  and  cast  them  into  the  Loire 
where  it  was  too  shallow  to  drown  them,  calling 
it  Revolutionary  Baptism,  then  plunged  their 
swords  into  those  hapless  wretches  who  swam 
to  the  shore ;  orphan  children  were  mowed 
down  in  hundreds  like  grass  before  the  scythe 
by  their  muskets,  and  horrors,  such  as  the  civil- 
ized world  never  before  witnessed,  were  the'eon- 
sequences  of  the  reign  of  reason  ! 

The  tide  of  war  continuing  to  roll  away  from 
her,  the  Comptesse  still  concealed  herself  in  the 
cottage  of  Pierre. 

"I  knew  not  whither  to  turn,  she  said.  My  pre- 
sence was  not  necessary  to  Pierre  ;  he  was  happy 
if  allowed  to  braid  straw  for  a  bonnet  for  poor 
Laurette,  whom  he  seemed  to  be  constantly  ex- 
pecting ;  but  if  La  Vendee  was  a  scene  of  danger, 
so  was  the  whole  of  France  to  one  of  noble 
blood.  Yet  my  heart  sickened  to  know  the 
fate  of  my  child.  Our  separation  had  been  ex- 
tended far  beyond  my  remotest  expectations, 
and  I  felt  as  if  I  could  endure  it  no  longer. 
Claude  did  not  return;  nay,  the  ill  success  of 
the  army  seemed  to  decide  that  it  was  useless  to 
expect  him,  and  how  was  I   to  travel.     I  was 


THE    SABBATH.  171 

secure  in  my  disguise,  which  had  now  become 
quite  natural  to  me,  and  I  still  possessed  the 
passport  of  Jeannette  Le  Blanc,  but  I  could  not 
traverse  the  whole  distance  between  La  Vendee 
and  Paris  quite  alone." 

Circumstances,  however,  occurred  which  at 
last  gave  her  the  opportunity  she  desired. 

During  an  attack  of  the  Republican  Army,  in 
which  the  hamlet  in  the  neighbourhood  was  a 
second  time  fired,  Pierre's  cottage  was  visited 
by  some  of  the  fierce  soldiers,  who  were  preparing 
to  wreak  their  vengeance  on  its  inhabitants,  when 
a  person  in  the  dress  of  an  officer  appeared  at 
the  door.  The  lady  instantly  threw  herself  at 
his  feet,  relating  in  passionate  words  of  entreaty 
the  horrible  injuries  which  had  made  poor  old 
Pierre  a  grinning  idiot.  The  young  man's 
heart  was  touched,  and  interposing  his  authority, 
the  cottage  and  its  inmates  were  spared. 

But  the  vengeance  of  the  Vendeans  was  at 
hand,  and  in  turn  they  were  victors.  The  old 
Chateau,  near  which  the  cottage  stood,  had  been 
fortified  by  a  party  of  the  Republicans,  but  the 
peasants  fired  it  with  their  own  hands. 

Whilst  the  fire  was  raging  a  man  covered  with 
dust  and  cinders,   the   blood  streaming  from  a 


172  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

recent  wound  in  his  temple,  reeled  with  violence 
against  the  door  of  the  cottage,  which  was  but 
feebly  barred.  It  burst  open,  "Save  me!"  he 
cried,  and  the  Comptesse  recognised  the  young 
officer  who  had  so  recently  saved  their  lives. 
Quick  as  thought  she  thrust  him  under  the 
settle  on  which  Pierre  always  sat,  and  covered 
him  with  a  heap  of  straw  from  which  the  old 
man  was  busily  selecting  the  longest  and  fairest 
for  Laurette's  bonnet. 

A  party  of  peasants  soon  followed,  but  they 
respected  Pierre's  sorrows  too  much  to  disturb 
him  by  a  search,  and  the  wounded  man  escaped. 

When  it  could  be  done  with  safety,  the 
Comptesse  dressed  his  wound,  and  concealed 
him  for  many  weeks  in  a  loft  over  the  kitchen 
until  he  was  strong  enough  to  travel.  The 
young  man  was  grateful,  and  without  disclosing 
her  real  situation  she  ventured  to  confide  to  him 
her  desires  to  seek  out  an  only  child,  whom 
changes  in  the  circumstances  of  the  friends  with 
whom  she  had  left  her,  had  carried  her  to  Paris. 
The  stranger  was  a  Parisian,  the  son  of  a  baker 
there,  and  eagerly  offered  to  be  her  guide  if  she 
could  contrive  means  for  his  leaving  La  Vendee. 
His  detachment  of  the  regiment  was  dispersed, 


THE  SABBATH.  173 

and  being  too  feeble  for  further  service,  he  was 
sure  of  being  permitted  to  return  home.  By- 
assuming  the  dress  of  a  peasant  his  departure 
was  made  easy.  Pierre  was  committed  to  the 
care  of  some  of  the  villagers,  and  in  an  ox  cart 
they  left  La  Vendee. 

As  soon  as  they  were  out  of  the  disturbed  dis- 
tricts the  young  man's  uniform  became  their 
protection,  and  with  some  delays,  but  little  rea 
danger,  they  arrived  at  the  barriers  of  Paris. 


16 


174  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Nearly  two  years  had  passed  over  us  since 
the  point  at  which  I  took,  up  the  Lady's  story, 
and  we  still  toiled  on  in  the  little  garret  of  M. 
Dubois.  But  what  changes  had  not  these  years 
made  in  the  condition  of  Paris. 

The  guillotine,  that  instrument  seemingly  in- 
vented for  this  period  alone,  did  its  work  daily 
upon  hundreds  of  victims.  All  who  had  been 
distinguished  in  France  for  excellence,  talent,  or 
noble  birth,  had  perished  under  its  fatal  stroke, 
or  were  languishing  in  crowded  prisons,  wait- 
ing for  the  only  Freedom  they  might  hope  for 
t — Death. 

We  heard  the  rumbling  of  the  wheels  which 
were  conveying  the  victims  to  the  place  of  exe- 
cution daily  ;  and  so  exactly  did  we  learn  to 
measure  the  time  by  our  dread  of  their  arrival, 
that  the  patient  smile  always  faded  from  Amee's 
pretty  lip,  and  a  sad  silence  filled  our  apartment 


THE    SABBATH.  175 

as  the  hour  approached,  until  we  were  at  last 
forced  to  hide  ourselves  in  Jacquiline's  closet, 
or  wrap  our  heads  in  the  bed  clothing,  that  we 
might  not  hear  the  fatal  sound. 

Our  noble  Queen,  with  the  other  members  of 
the  royal  family,  had  been  closely  imprisoned 
and  treated  with  great  rigour  since  the  King's 
execution,  but  for  some  time  she  had  the  satis- 
faction of  being  with  her  children.  As  the 
period  of  her  trial  approached  this  was  considered 
too  great  an  indulgence.  The  latter  part  of  her 
confinement  was  spent  in  the  worst  prison's  worst 
room,  entirely  separated  from  her  family  and  in 
the  most  disgraceful  destitution  ;  her  only  dress 
was  an  old  black  gown ;  her  stockings  were  in 
holes,  and  she  was  destitute  'of  shoes  of  any 
kind.  Her  bed  ragged  and  miserable,  breathing 
the  most  unwholesome  smells,  her  only  attend- 
ant a  spy  and  a  murderer,  thus  did  she  languish 
whose  whole  previous  life  had  been  spent  in  a 
luxury  which  could  not  even  conceive  of  poverty. 
Weeping  and  want  wasted  the  loveliness  which 
had  once  made  her  an  idol,  and  early  sorrow 
turned  her  beautiful  hair  quite  gray  ;  but  nothing 
could  take  from  her  the  comforts  which  Religion 


176  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

gives  ;  and  happier  than  her  murderers  when  in 
turn  they  met  the  stroke  of  the  guillotine,  she 
looked  in  hope  from  the  sorrows  of  this  life  to 
the  bliss  of  a  better  world.  She  too  was  at  last 
dragged  to  the  place  of  execution,  and  like  those 
of  her  gentle  hearted  husband,  her  last  hours 
were  spent  in  prayer  for  her  enemies. 

These  two  years  have  very  properly  been 
called  the  Reign  of  Terror,  for  Reason  seemed 
to  have  been  as  completely  lost  as  Religion. 
The  Philosophers,  and  Enlighteners  of  their 
nation,  as  they  had  loved  to  style  themselves, 
were  daily  slaughtered  by  the  guillotine ;  or, 
hunted  like  wild  beasts,  they  perished  by  their 
own  hands  in  prisons,  garrets,  ditches  or  road- 
sides, to  escape  the  fury  of  the  men  whom  they 
had  instructed  in  the  doctrines  of  liberty  ;  and 
found  when  too  late  that  the  laws  of  God  can 
alone  bind  society  together  in  happy  security. 

The  prisons  were  overflowing  with  suspected 
persons,  and  our  neighbour  the  shoemaker  had 
long  since  grown  rich  by  his  employment.  He 
had  formerly  been  only  violent  and  noisy,  but  his 
vile  occupation  and  consequent  familiarity  with 
scenes  of  distress,  had  rendered  him  both  harsh 


THE    SABBATH.  177 

and  cruel.  His  voice  had  grown  to  resemble 
the  growl  of  a  dog,  and  even  his  wife  became 
glad  to  hide  herself  from  his  presence.  Perhaps 
it  was  these  qualities  which  made  the  Authori- 
ties choose  him  for  the  guardian  of  the  young 
Dauphin  when  it  was  determined  to  educate  him 
as  a  sans-culotte,  the  lowest  grade  in  Paris. 
He  was  a  gentle  hearted  little  boy  whose  young 
eyes  had  learned  to  weep  in  sympathy  with  his 
father's  tears,  and  could  ill  bear  the  sufferings 
inflicted  upon  him. 

Old  M.  Dubois  was  present  at  the  Conven- 
tion when  the  wretch  received  his  charge  "  to 
get  rid  of  the  whelp  .'"  and  even  he,  who  never 
got  angry  at  any  thing  which  did  not  interfere 
with  his  own  gains,  a  soil  on  the  kid  or  a  long 
stitch  in  a  glove,  described  to  us  indignantly 
how  the  monster  grinned  when  this  was  said.    , 

He  was  got  rid  of,  and  speedily  too,  I  believe  ; 
for  confinement  under  bolts  and  bars,  in  a  filthy 
room  by  day  and  night,  his  solitude  only  broken 
by  cruel  faces  that  came  to  mock  his  infant 
tears  ;  his  bed,  unmade  for  six  months,  covered 
with  vermin  ;  a  whole  year  without  changing 
his  linen  or  stockings;  his  windows  never 
16* 


178  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

opened  to  admit  the  pure  air  of  heaven  ;  without 
employment  for  his  hands  or  books  for  his 
mind ;  the  dull  wearisome  day  succeeded  by 
the  night  whose  terrible  imaginings  no  cheerful 
taper  banished  ; — ah,  my  dear  boys,  wonder  at 
the  horrors  which  were  crowded  into  that  poor 
child's  last  days,  and  whilst  you  pity  him,  thank 
God  for  the  blue  vault  above  you,  the  breezy 
forest  around,  and  a  home  of  freedom  ! 

Before  he  was  eight  years   old,  I  think,  he 
rested  in  a  quiet  grave. 

In  the  progress  of  my  tale  you  have  seen  that 
Religion  had  been,  even  in  name,  almost  totally 
neglected.  The  Rulers  had  proceeded  as  if 
there  were  no  God  in  Heaven,  and  the  people 
had  obediently  imitated  them.  But  the  office  of 
Priest  still  continued  ;  the  Churches  which  the 
piety  of  former  ages  had  reared,  still  stood  open 
to  invite  a  wandering  footstep  to  their  Altars, 
and  here  and  there  a  faithful  Cur©  performed 
the  duties  of  his  station.  But  even  this  show 
of  piety  became  irksome  to  men  whose  consci- 
ences dreaded  its  truth,  and  at  last  the  Nation 
devoted  itself,  with  processions  and  hymns,  to 
a  fantastic  Deity  called  the  goddess  of  Reason, 


THE    SABHATH.  179 

who   was   represented    by    a   beautiful    opera 
dancer. 

The  sacred  vessels  and  rich  treasures  of  the 
Churches  were  torn  from  them  by  the  mob ;  all 
that  their  ancestors  had  venerated  was  trampled 
under  foot ;  and  the  busts  of  men  who  had  dis- 
tinguished themselves  only  by  their  vices  took 
the  places  of  Saints  and  Martyrs  ;  the  Churches 
themselves  were  converted  into  Temples  of  the 
new  Deity,  and  the  grave  yards  bore  this  inscrip- 
tion, "death  is  an  eternal  sleep  ;"  by  a  formal 
decree  every  tenth  day  became  sacred  to  this 
new  worship  ;  and  the  holy  day  of  God  appointed 
by  Himself  amid  the  thunders  of  Sinai, — ap- 
proved by  human  legislators  for  its  benevolent 
interval  of  rest  to  labouring  man  and  his  patient 
beast, — honoured  by  accumulated  ages, — it 
passed  away, — it  was  set  aside  from  a  great 
Nation  by  the  will  of  a  few  hundred  uneducated 
fanatics  of  liberty,  as  they  chose  to  call  the  wild 
passion  which  swayed  them  ;  and  France,  beau- 
tiful France,  rich  in  the  bounties  of  its  Maker, 
glorious  in  the  perfections  which  His  hand  had 
stamped  upon  her,  was  a  Land  without  the  Sab- 
bath! 


180  THE  LAND  WITHOUT 

"  The  services  of  religion  were  now  univer- 
sally abandoned.  Baptisms  ceased  ;  the  burial 
service  was  heard  no  longer  ;  the  sick  received 
no  communion,  the  dying  no  consolation.  In- 
fancy entered  the  world  without  a  blessing;  age 
quitted  it  without  a  hope." 


THE    SABBATH.  181 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

It  may  well  be  supposed  by  my  dear  child- 
ren, that  all  this  folly  and  irreligion  made  little 
difference  to  us  poor  lonely  girls.  We  had  our 
Bible  still  and  our  books  of  devotion;  we  knew 
that  our  Heavenly  Parent  looked  upon  the  lowly 
heart  wherever  it  raised  its  offering,  so  the 
decrees  of  the  Convention  or  the  fashions  of  our 
neighbours  made  little  difference  to  us.  In 
patient  hope  we  still  toiled  on, 

Poor  Amee's  daily  walks  had  been  but  little 
interrupted,  except  when  tumults  in  the  streets 
rendered  it  dangerous,  and  it  was  very  plain, 
although  she  seldom  mentioned  it,  that  the  hope 
of  one  day  meeting  her  beloved  parent  or  Claude 
in  these  rambles,  was  the  strong  desire  which 
gave  them  interest; 

"  I  look  so  inquiringly  in  every  one's  eyes, 
dear  Manon,"  she  would  sometimes  say,  laugh- 
ing through  her  tears,  "  that  I  fully  expect  to  be 


182  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

arrested  for  a  suspicious  person.  But  if  you 
could  only  conceive  how  my  heart  throbs 
almost  to  bursting  when  I  discover  a  figure  or 
gait  resembling  hers  ;  how  I  hurry  poor  Jacqui- 
line  forward  by  every  excuse  to  view  the  face, 
and  then  how  terrible  is  my  disappointment, 
you  would  pity  me." 

Pity  her  I  am  sure  I  did,  and  weep  with  her 
too.  Yet  she  still  persevered  in  hoping,  and 
talked  of  the  future  so  cheerfully,  for  the  next 
garret  being  empty  now,  we  could  allow  our- 
selves a  little  conversation  occasionally,  that  my 
own  heart  caught  the  feeling  from  hers. 

At  length,  it  was  on  one  of  the  Decades,  as 
these  new  divisions  of  time  were  called,  the 
obsequies  M.  Dubois  had  closed  his  little  shop 
in  honor  of  the  day,  and  with  his  red  peruke 
neatly  dressed,  his  best  clothes  brushed  as  clean 
as  hands  could  make  them,  was  just  setting  out 
to  join  one  of  the  processions,  when  a  young  man 
in  the  dress  of  the  Revolutionary  Army,  accom- 
panied by  a  tall,  dark,  weather-stained  peasant 
woman,  inquired  for  Jacquiline.  Had  not  the 
dress  of  the  young  man  given  him  assurance  of 
safety,  such  an  occurrence  would  have  filled  M. 
Dubois  with  alarm  ;  as  it  was  he  showed  them 


THE    SABBATH.  183 

into  the  little  back  room,  where  Jacquiline  was 
engaged  in  some  household  duty.  One  glance 
at  her  neat  little  figure  through  the  glass  door 
convinced  the  female  that  she  was  right,  and 
dismissing  her  protector  she  entered  the  room 
alone. 

She  pronounced  Jacquiline's  name  and  extend- 
ed her  hand,  but  so  completely  had  four  years 
of  incessant  watchfulness  and  fear  subdued 
nature  within  the  good  creature,  that  although 
perfectly  recognising  the  Comptesse  at  the  first 
glance,  neither  word  nor  look  betrayed  her 
feelings.  M.  Dubois  just  waited  long  enough 
to  see  that  the  visitor  was  received,  and  politely 
withdrew.  Jacquiline  quietly  accompanied  him 
to  the  door,  spoke  of  her  guest,  talked  over  the 
probabilities  of  a  shower,  procured  his  umbrella, 
gave  a  finishing  brush  to  his  hat  with  her  apron, 
watched  him  some  paces  down  the  street,  then 
barred  the  door  strongly  and  hastened  to  the 
lady. 

She  had  fainted. 

When  life  again  coloured  her  lips  and  cheeks 
she  lay  in  the  arms  of  her  child  !     ' 

Jacquiline  wisely  judged  that  even  a  moment's 
suspense  should  be  avoided  here  ;  and  certain 


184  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

from  Amee's  disposition  that  though  she  might 
dance  in  frenzied  delight,  she  would  neither  faint 
nor  lose  her  power  of  acting  reasonably,  she 
rushed  to  our  room  with  the  intelligence.  Dear, 
dear  Amee  !  my  old  eyes  are  running  over  now 
at  the  recollection  of  her  wild  scream  of  joy, 
fortunately  a  safe  one,  as  she  sprung  to  her  feet 
and  darted  to  the  door.  A  look  from  Jacquiline 
directed  her,  she  waited  not  for  words,  but 
flew  down  stairs.  According  to  Jacquiline's 
directions  I  followed  very  deliberately. 

"  Mamma  !  mamma  !  my  own  dear  mamma !" 
were  the  whispered  words  which  brought  the 
Comptesse  to  the  consciousness  of  her  happi- 
ness. 

The  mother  and  child  lay  long  silently  locked 
in  each  other's  embrace,  whilst  Jacquiline  and 
myself  knelt  beside  them  in  tears  of  joyful 
thankfulness.  When  they  at  last  roused  them- 
selves, our  lady  extended  her  arms  ;  thoughtless 
of  rank  we  threw  ourselves  into  them  and  wept 
together.  When  their  tears  had  subsided,  with 
what  astonishment  the  mother  and  child  gazed 
upon  each  other.  Except  in  that  hasty  meeting 
by  night  in  the  acacia  thicket,  they  had  never 
seen  each  other  in  their  peasant's  garb.     How 


THE    SABBATH.  185 

different  then  did  each  appear  from  the  form 
which  memory  had  presented.  In  the  mother's 
mind  Amee  only  dwelt  as  a  graceful  young  girl 
of  twelve  or  thirteen,  habited  in  the  delicate  dress 
proper  to  her  station,  her  flowing  dark  hair 
shading  a  sweet  but  childish  countenance.  Now 
a  tall  young  woman  stands  before  her,  dressed 
in  a  woollen  petticoat  and  jacket  of  the  form  of 
Jacquiline's,  but  with  limbs  so  elegant,  and 
movements  so  light,  that  she  gives  grace  to  the 
dress.  Her  hair  is  braided  under  a  handkerchief 
worn  something  in  the  form  of  a  turban,  which 
adds  greater  maturity  and  dignity  to  her  appear- 
ance. The  circumstances  in  which  her  charac- 
ter had  been  formed,  in  those  important  years 
when  the  girl  passes  into  the  woman,  had  tended 
very  much  to  foster  certain  points  of  her  charac- 
ter which  showed  themselves  in  the  spirited 
determination  of  her  eyes,  and  the  firmness  of 
her  lip.  She  looked  like  one  whose  courage 
was  prepared  for  any  circumstances,  but  whose 
sweetness  would  yield  under  no  trial,  and  over 
all  a  little  mirthfulness  played  which  made  her 
face  charming.  And  such  she  was,  my  fair 
Amee  !  such  she  is  still,  my  excellent  lady,  the 

Comptesse  De  F ,  the  beloved  and  admired 

17 


186  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

even  in  old  age,  by  her  children's  children.  May 
a  thousand  blessings  be  upon  her  ! 

M.  Dubois  most  obligingly  remaining  abroad 
most  of  the  day,  we  spent  it  in  mutual  commu- 
nications in  our  garret,  Jacquiline  watching  at 
the  door  lest  we  should  be  interrupted  by 
listeners.  It  was  then  we  first  wept  over  the 
story  of  poor  Laurette,  and  then  we  most 
devotedly,  upon  bended  knees,  returned  thanks  to 
our  Heavenly  Parent  for  the  watchfulness  which 
had  guarded  us  in  such  incessant  dangers,  for 
more  than  four  years. 

The  lady  had  found  no  difficulty  in  procuring 
an  asylum  with  the  grateful  parents  of  Lapres, 
the  young  man  she  had  saved ;  but  the  baker 
Was  a  violent  Revolutionist,  one  of  the  Commit- 
tee of  his  Section,  that  is,  a  man  whose  duty  it 
was  to  arrest  all  suspicious  persons  in.  his 
district;  her  home  therefore  was  neither  safe  nor 
pleasant.  Jacquiline  indulged  the  hope  that 
she  might  in  time  be  able  to  persuade  her  brother 
into  receiving  another  inmate,  or  at  least  a  lodger 
for  the  next  garret ;  in  this  hope,  and  with  the 
promise  of  meeting  when  prudence  would  again 
permit,  the  mother  and  child  tore  themselves 
apart.     Jacquiline  accompanied  the  Coinptesse 


THE    SABBATH.  187 

to  her  home,  that  her  well  known  face  and 
figure  might  give  her  protection  in  our  neigh- 
bourhood, whilst  Amee  and  myself  remained  to 
wonder,  weep,  and  laugh  over  the  events  of 
the  day. 


188  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

I  believe  M.  Dubois  had  no  suspicion  of  the 
rank  of  the  Comptesse,  or  that  she  was  any- 
thing more  than  what  she  seemed,  the  mother 
of  Araee  and  a  former  neighbour  of  Jacqui- 
line.  Perhaps,  had  his  business  been  suffi- 
ciently extensive,  Jacquiline's  hopes  of  another 
assistant  might  have  been  realized.  But  trade 
of  all  kinds  was  extremely  dull  ;  for  though 
people,  particularly  the  Revolutionists,  danced, 
sung,  went  to  theatres  and  concerts,  gave 
dinners  and  suppers  as  if  the  country  had  been 
overflowing  with  happiness  ;  yet  as  elegance  of 
dress,  or  luxury  of  living,  were  marks  of  wealth, 
and  the  possession  of  that  a  sure  introduction  to 
the  prison  or  guillotine,  men  and  women  affected 
great  indifference  to  appearances,  and  often 
assumed  the  squalid  dress  of  extreme  poverty 
to  please  their  masters,  the  sans-culottes. 

The  lady  continued  therefore  to  live  with  the 
baker  in  fear  and  distrust,  which  prevented  her 


THE    SABBATH,  189 

visiting  us  so  frequently  as  she  might  have  clone  ; 
but  at  last  the  moment  appointed  for  delivering 
the  country  from  this  curse  which  it  had  brought 
upon  itself,  arrived,  and  the  gladness  which  filled 
the  land  entered  our  lonely  garret  too. 

The  terrible  party  which  had  governed  France 
for  two  years,  like  wolves  at  a  carnage,  had  gradu- 
ally thinned  their  number  by  slaughtering  each 
other,  until  the  supreme  power  rested  in  the 
hands  of  three  individuals  whose  names  will 
always  be  infamous  in  history,  Danton,  Marat, 
and  Robespierre.  I  need  not  shock  you  with 
the  particulars  of  the  fate  of  these  wretched  men, 
for  it  is  not  necessary  to  my  story.  They  per- 
ished at  last  by  deaths  of  violence,  one  by  the 
hand  of  a  deluded  female  who  sought  thus  to 
avenge  her  lover's  death  and  the  wrongs  of  her 
country ;  the  others  by  the  guillotine  which  for 
two  years  had  done  its  work  at  their  bidding 
upon  so  many  thousands,  amidst  the  terrible 
curses  of  the  land  they  had  afflicted. 

"With  the  last  of  these,  Robespierre,  the 
instrument  of  death  rested  ;  the  executioner's 
work  was  done  ;  the  prison  gates  were  opened  ; 
wives  and  husbands,  parents  and  children, 
brother  and  sister,  friend  and  friend,  met  in 
17* 


190  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

frenzied    embraces.     The    city    was    delirious 
with  joy,  and  even  Jacquilinelost  her  prudence. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  Comptesse 
revealed  her  real  name  and  rank  to  the  baker. 
Her  story  was  striking  and  romantic ;  the  weak, 
silly  man  was  nattered  by  her  confidence,  he 
was  certainly  grateful  too  for  the  services  she 
had  rendered  to  his  son ;  beside,  mercy  was 
the  fashion  of  the  day,  and  who  that  has  ever 
been  in  Paris  knows  not  how  fashion  rules  the 
conduct  of  its  inhabitants.  He  very  graciously 
pardoned  her  for  the  involuntary  crime  of  being 
descended  from  a  race  of  kings  and  princes,  and 
promised  her  his  protection. 

But  the  grateful  Arnold  did  more.  He  threw 
himself  at  the  feet  of  his  Colonel,  with  whom 
he  was  a  great  favorite  ;  he  daily  haunted  the 
National  Tribunal  to  interest  its  members  ;  and 
the  Comptesse  herself  through  him,  obtained 
an  opportunity  to  plead  her  own  cause  before 
the  kind  hearted  Madam  Tallien,  wife  to  the 
President  of  the  Convention.  Her  husband, 
the  unfortunate  Compte,had  long  since  perished 
in  an  engagement  on  the  frontier,  and  the  lady's 
secluded  life  had  happily  prevented  her  from 
offending  against  the  prejudices  of  the  people; 


THE    SARBATH  191 

so  that  there  was  the  less  difficulty  in  removing 
her  name  from  the  list  of  the  proscribed.  Nay 
more,  government  was  her  debtor  for  some 
funds  illegally  claimed,  which  were  restored  ; 
and  at  last,  on  the  brightest  day,  as  we  thought 
that  ever  dawned  on  Paris,  our  lady  and  most 
beloved  Mam'selle  Julie  were  restored  to  free- 
dom and  comfort. 

I  am  sure  1  shall  gratify  my  dear  boys  by 
pausing  here  for  a  moment,  though  at  the  close 
of  a  long  and  perhaps  tedious  tale,  to  describe 
our  sensations  in  a  situation  so  new.  But  M. 
Dubois  is  present  to  me  now  as  he  looked  when 
the  story  was  revealed  to  him.  He  was  in  our 
garret,  and  the  lady,  freed  from  the  disguise  of 
her  lowly  dress,  stood  before  him  in  the  dig- 
nity of  her  rank  ;  the  paper  which  secured  her 
freedom,  with  the  seals  and  official  marks  which 
gave  it  outward  importance,  in  her  trembling 
hands,  yet  so  deeply  grateful  for  his  involuntary 
protection  that  words  could  not  express  her 
feelings.  He  looked  so  confounded  with  the 
dangers  he  had  escaped,  and  so  much  gratified 
by  the  well  filled  purse  the  lady  placed  within 
his  hand  ;  so  divided  between  his  natural  respect 
for  rank,  and  his   new  revolutionary  opinions, 


192  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

adopted  to  please  his  customers ;  so  much 
pleased  with  the  friends  his  faithful  sister  had 
earned,  and  its  consequent  benefit  to  himself,  but 
so  vexed  with  the  use  she  had  made  of  him  in 
her  concealment,  that  his  face  formed  one  of 
the  most  rueful  yet  amusing  pictures  possible. 

Amee,  in  her  merry  wTit  declared  that  his  red 
peruke  stood  up  in  agitation ;  how  that  may 
be  I  know  not,  but  the  jerkings  of  his  eyebrows 
did  certainly  communicate  a  ridiculous  motion 
to  it  behind. 

He  took  leave  of  Amee,  bright  in  tears  and 
smiles,  with  a  profound  reverence ;  yet  true  to 
his  character,  ventured  to  hope  "  that  Mam'- 
selle  would  not  leave  him  until  the  half  finished 
package  of  gloves  were  embroidered,  as  she 
knew  it  would  make  a  great  difference  in  his 
poor  business  if  they  were  spoiled  by  another 
hand." 

"  I  will  not  promise  that,  M.  Dubois,"  said 
Amee  laughing,  and  gracefully  extending  her 
hand,  "but  1  will  promise  to  purchase  them  as 
they  are,  to  finish  at  my  leisure  ;  and  farther,  I 
will  promise  never  to  wear  a  glove  shaped  by 
another  hand  than   M.  Dubois'  whilst  he  is  able 


THE    SABBATH.  193 

to  form  one ;"  and  grateful  tears  filled  her  eyes 
as  she  spoke. 

The  old  man  was  moved  and  quickly  with- 
drew. A  fiacre,  an  inferior  kind  of  hack,  but 
the  best  that  the  prejudices  of  the  times  allowed 
to  people  of  wealth,  conveyed  us  to  the  ready 
furnished  Hotel  which  the  delicate  kindness  of 
Madam  Tallien  had  engaged  for  the  Comptesse 
in  that  quarter  of  Paris  where  resided  the  few  of 
her  own  rank  which  the  Revolution  had  left. 
Amee  entered  it  in  her  peasants'  garb.  It  was 
her  pleasure  to  do  so  for  she  loved  all  strong 
emotions  and  contrasts  ;  it  was  difficult  to  tell 
on  that  day  whether  her  tears  or  smiles  were 
most  numerous.  Of  one  thing  I  am  certain. 
The  deep  gratitude  of  a  pious  heart  was  over- 
flowing in  rapid  streams  amidst  all  her  trans- 
ports. 

When,  at  her  mother's  request,  she  laid  aside 
the  jacket,  petticoat,  leather  shoes  and  woollen 
stockings,  which  had  been  her  protection  for  so 
many  years,  and  assumed  the  elegant  dress 
proper  to  her  rank  and  age,  she  kissed  them 
with  deep*  emotion,  as  they  were  deposited  by 
her  own  hands  in  a  place  of  safe  keeping. 


194  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

"  Lie  there,"  she  exclaimed,  "  memorials  of 
Amee  !  on  this  day  of  every  year  shall  you  be 
worn  by  her,  and  it  shall  be  sacred  to  Him,  who 
through  your  means,  has  so  graciously  and  won- 
derfully preserved  me.  As  a  deception  I  hated 
you,  as  a  remembrancer  of  His  goodness  I  revere 
you  !  You  shall  be  strewed  with  the  freshest 
violets  from  the  dear  woods  of  St.  Marie  la 
Bonne!" 

"  Mamma!  mamma  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  take 
me  from  these  walls !  They  are  lofty  and 
gilded  it  is  true,  yet  still  they  are  walls  such  as 
those  of  prisons  and  garrets  !  Oh,  take  me 
abroad  under  wide  blue  Heavens,  let  me  breathe 
the  balmy  air  of  the  meadows,  and  let  me  tell 
the  winds  again  and  again  that  I  am/ree/" 


THE    SABBATH.  195 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

The  moderate  wishes  of  wealth  are  not  diffi- 
cult to  gratify.  In  a  short  time  we  were  again 
in  the  beloved  village  of  St.  Marie  la  Bonne. 
We  were  weeping  at  the  graves  of  my  father  and 
Henri ;  we  were  embracing  deaf  Francois  and 
his  scolding  wife.  We  gathered  hazle-nuts  and 
violets  in  the  glen  where  Jacques  had  died,  and 
dear  Julie  wiped  away  her  mother's  tears  at  the 
dreary  Mausoleum  which  had  sheltered  the 
Compte.  We  strewed  fresh  flowers  over  the 
simple  grave  of  the  Cure,  and  even  poor  Bijou's 
resting  place  was  not  forgotten,  though  I  fore- 
bore  to  tell  Mam'selle  all  that  sad  story. 

But  our  dear  village  could  no  longer  be  a  home 
for  us.  The  fires  of  the  brigands  had  not  more 
marred  and  defaced  the  marble  walls  of  the 
Chateau,  than  the  opinions  and  practices  of  the 
Revolution  had  spoiled  our  once  innocent  neigh- 
bours. Rapine,  the  power  to  wrest  away  what 
the  weak  could  not  hold,  had  produced  a  grasp- 


196  THE    LAND    WITHOUT 

ing,  avaricious  spirit  among  them.  As  it  was 
the  fashion  to  talk  of  wrongs,  these  simple  peo- 
ple who  had  suffered  none,  at  least  in  compari- 
son, had  learned  to  threaten  and  complain.  A 
vain  struggle  to  rise  a  little  higher  than  his 
neighbour,  to  get  a  little  more  of  the  confiscated 
lands,  to  go  a  little  beyond  the  other  in  petty 
frauds,  filled  the  scheming  heads  of  the  villagers. 
The  young  men  were  noisy,  the  girls  bold  and 
vain.  The  Sabbath  was  no  longer  regarded  nor 
even  wished  for  by  the  most ;  but  a  noisy,  con- 
ceited Atheism,  which  doubted  everything  and 
respected  nothing,  human  or  divine,  had  taken 
the  place  of  that  deep  reverence  and  contented 
faith,  which  had  once  made  them  all  so  happy. 

Even  Jacquiline  was  glad  to  return  to  Paris. 

Our  next  endeavour  was  to  learn  news  of  my 
brother  Claude,  and  here  we  were  quite  success- 
ful ;  for  a  letter  was  found  at  the  Post  Office, 
addressed  to  the  care  of  M.  Dubois,  written 
about  six  months  previous,  which  informed  us 
in  a  concealed  way,  that  about  a  year  before  he 
had  sailed  from  Marseilles  for  a  port  near  Paris  ; 
but  being  driven  out  to  sea  by  a  violent  storm  in 
the  Bay  of  Biscay,  they  were  relieved  when 
nearly   sinking   by    a   vessel    bound   for   New 


THE  SABBATH.  197 

York  in  North  America.  He  had  landed  there 
friendless  and  penniless,  but  employment  was 
easily  obtained  ;  and  finding  that  it  would  be 
certain  death  to  re-enter  France  after  having 
been  in  the  service  of  the  Aliens,  he  had  been 
engaged  by  a  French  gentleman  there,  who 
promised  him  every  assistance  when  it  should 
be  safe  for  him  to  return. 

A  letter  soon  informed  him  of  our  release,  and 
conveyed  liberal  proofs  of  his  lady's  gratitude. 

But  I  need  linger  no  longer  over  this  tale,  for 
I  have  shown  you  what  I  wished,  a  few  pictures, 
and  faint  ones  too,  of  a  land  desolated  by 
anarchy  and  irreligion,  holding  its  security  at 
the  hand  of  a  lawless  Mob.  The  uneventful 
life,  even  of  a  grandmother,  can  scarcely  be  of 
further  interest.  We  continued  with  our  lady 
until  the  marriage  of  Mam'selle  carried  them 
both  to  the  south  of  France.  My  own  wedding 
with  your  grandfather  took  place  about  the  same 
time,  and  in  compliance  with  his  wishes  and 
those  of  my  brother  Claude,  we  removed  to 
America,  and  faithful  Jacquiline  accompanied  us. 

Here,  in  the,  wild  forest  I  have  lived,  I  have 
been  happy,  and  I  have  mourned.     Here  my 
boys  have  been  reared  in  freedom  and  comfort ; 
18 


198        THE  LAND  WITHOUT  THE  SABBATH. 

here  my  husband  and  brother  sleeps  ;  and  here 
will  I  be  buried.  The  forest  is  gradually  pass- 
ing away  from  around  me,  but  I  too  shall  have 
gone  before  the  axe  of  the  woodman  girdles  the 
last  tree;  and  may  my  children's  children  guard 
the  spot  where  their  ancestors  slumber. 

But  France,  my  beautiful  France  !  How  is 
it  you  will  say,  grandmother,  with  that  fated, 
land  ? 

Why,  my  dears,  even  as  it  is  with  yonder 
wheat  field  which  the  lightning  burned.  In 
religion  as  in  morals  it  presents  strange  con- 
trasts. Every  where  may  be  viewed  the  black- 
ened stubble,  memorials  of  the  past ;  but  the 
tender  green  of  a  new  vegetation  is  fast  rising 
above  it,  and  many  a  sweet  sprout  of  holiness 
flourishes  by  the  side  of  the  scorched  remnants 
of  infidelity.  And  since  there  stands  a  promise 
which  cannot  fail,  that  "  the  knowledge  of  the 
Lord  shall  cover  the  earth  as  the  waters  cover 
the  sea,"  doubt  it  not  that  a  time  is  coming 
when  France  shall  so  stand  in  the  beauty  of 
holiness,  that  it  will  be  a  wonder,  a  thing  to  make 
men  gaze,  when  it  is  told  that  she  was  ever  that 
frightful  object — 

A  LAND  WITHOUT  THE  SABBATH. 


